Laura Bell and the Commodore's Intended
by lydia the eleventh
Summary: Laura Bell, the childhood friend of Commodore Norrington, must face down hords of MarySues and GaryStus, a crazy authoress, gaping plotholes and outrageous occurances to finally win Norrington's heart. Need I say NorringtonOC?
1. Laura Bell

(Author's Notes – Parody? Yup. Mary-Sue and Gary-Stu? Present. Outrageous situations? Humiliating occurrences? Plenty. A long-suffering heroine up against a line of perfect rivals? NorringtonOC? You bet.

With DMC out and Norrington's less than creditable behavior spawning wonderful if a little angsty fanfic, myself the author of one, I felt the need to write something a little more lighthearted. Hence one more parody of the invasion of Mary-Sues, men's reaction to a pretty girl, outrageous plot holes and devices, etc.

The prologue owes a HUGE nod to Jane Austen's Northanger Abbey!

As stated, NorringtonOC, takes place directly after CotBP. Definitely not DMC compliant. Starts kind of slow, but I promise it gets much better and funnier quickly!)

**Laura Bell and the Commodore's Intended**

Laura Bell was not extraordinary. On the day of her birth in Port Royal, the skies were clear, the seas might have been a trifle calmer than usual, but not unnaturally so, and the heat was, as it is there through every summer, unbearable. Her mother did not die in childbirth, but went on to give her husband, Captain Bell (who was, shockingly enough, the father of all of his wife's children), three more daughters and live to the ripe old age of 103. Mrs. Bell was a very matronly woman, perhaps prone to gossiping, but one who took good care of her children; though she might have indulged them a bit too far, you would never tell from their behavior or personalities. Captain Bell, RN, was himself neither brilliant nor bumbling, and a very loving father. Neither parent was abusive, distant, cold or cruel, though Captain Bell's position often took him away for long periods of time, none of the girls thought the less of their father for it. In fact, Laura Bell's ancestry was so thoroughly respectable and bland it was only noticeable because it brought her into both the Naval circles and the good society of Port Royal.

Within her upbringing and schooling she was no different from many young ladies of the time. To be sure, Laura showed a marked propensity for drawing at a very early age, and did continue to become highly accomplished in that field, but it was her only truly distinguishing achievement. Her languages were good, though she could not grasp Dutch too well; she could play her mother's old spinet with a degree of grace but did not care to sing (though when she did, most thought her tolerable); for her social graces society would never reject her; other aspects of her schooling, such as history, geography, and arithmetic, she found dull but learned out of duty. Indeed, on the score of education, Laura was as good as any young lady of breeding in Port Royal.

In the all-important category of looks, might have been slightly above average. She had molasses colored hair which was prone to frizzing if she was not careful, kindly grey eyes that needed spectacles to read, a straight nose, a freckled complexion, lips neither thin nor full, and a pleasing if occasionally adamant jaw. On a good day, she might have been called pretty, but on a normal day when she took no pains about her looks, Laura would not have been noticed. With regards to body, she was as every young lady ought to be, no more and no less. Laura was no beauty but no hag, pleasing but hardly more than that.

Of her good and bad characteristics, she was well endowed. Her principle flaws were those of being entirely too passive and eager to please, but she was, or tried her hardest to be, a kind, caring girl with good sense and morals. Her loyalties were fierce and affections unshakable, if someone should threaten a person close to her heart, they had indeed come up against an implacable foe. Her disposition was inclined towards a gentle optimism, though Laura occasionally suffered from bouts of depression, they never lasted long or left any sort of scar. Neither of her parents found much lacking in her character, and, to her delight, Laura was thought one of the kindest souls in Port Royal.

There was something else about Laura Bell that must be mentioned, for it was introduced into her way of thinking so early that it, in time, became a part of her as unwavering as her loyalties. From the earliest age of cognition, almost only four years of age, Laura had been deeply in attached to a boy five or six years her senior, James Norrington. His mother had been a particular friend of Mrs. Bell's, and the Norrington girls – Ophelia and Charity – became the inseparable playmates of those of the Bells'. But the ties between these families are almost immaterial to this tale compared with Laura's early and undying attachment to James. It began at an age when all romantic connections between the sexes are scorned, and so she had sought to hide it behind her friendship. By the time such an attachment would have been agreeable to both parties, James had turned to a girl closer to his age who was much livelier and more vivacious than Laura, Elinor Browning. While her inability to catch James's heart always was a source of great pain to Laura, his friendship and kindness toward her helped to ease the pain a bit. Of course, she was heartbroken at the early age of six when James and his family left for a holiday in England, on the same ship as the Brownings, certain with a child's knowledge that James and Elinor would fall completely in love during the long voyage, and that they should be married as soon as the ship reached England. To her credit, she was shattered when she learned of the tragedy that befell the ship, how James was the only survivor of a pirate attack that killed all aboard. For an entire year she wore nothing but subdued colors, ate two bites a meal, and never said three words together, perhaps less than one hundred the entire year.

Through all of this her affection for James remained as constant as the Northern Star, across all of ten long years where she had little news of him, correspondence between the two of them being made impossible due to impropriety. Laura heard of his becoming a midshipman in the Royal Navy through a friend six months after the fact; she had no idea of his being made lieutenant for two years until a rare letter to the Bell family arrived from him, having been misdirected in the most awful way imaginable.

So, it came as a complete surprise to Laura and the Bells at large when, one rainy "winter's" evening, a knock on the front door announced the adult Lieutenant James Norrington, aged 23 and about to be given command of the HMS _Destiny_, of 32 guns and 250 men. Laura, who, during his ten-year absence, had come of age and, more importantly, recently come on the marriage market, was overjoyed to see him again, and the sound of his voice made her as much, if not more in love with him than she had ever been. James was delighted to see his childhood friend and companion, so much that he spent the entire evening in her company, learning what she had done with herself and Laura learned what he had done with himself. At this crucial juncture she held her heart back, certain from years of experience that he would not wish a connection to her on grounds of her scant beauty and accomplishments. In light of James's own feelings, which she was entirely unaware of, this proved to be a major blunder which would cost her a good deal of happiness, for James, at this time, was much taken with his old friend, but would not impose upon her, as he knew he had been entirely absent the past ten years. By the time James left, the moment had passed, and though Laura remained his closest friend and confidant through the nexteight years, she was overcome with a desperate but hidden sadness as she watched him fall in love Elizabeth Swann, the only child and daughter of the widower Governor.

Morgaine and Agatha, the youngest of the Bell girls, became particular friends of Elizabeth, who was, by all accounts, a strange but beautiful girl, whose own close confidant through her childhood and adolescence was William Turner, a boy who could best be described as a foundling, for he was the only survivor of a pirate attack. As Elizabeth grew, she would not outgrow him, despite the fact he became apprentice to a blacksmith in a respectable, if not prosperous part of Port Royal. How Miss Swann grew! She was a quick study who seemed to easily master the most difficult of materials, whose needlework might have been grudgingly done but was beautiful nonetheless, who played the expensive harpsichord shipped directly from London as well as her master and sung like the veriest nightingale. Elizabeth Swann was as graceful in society as her name suggested; the only area in which Laura was the clear-cut and acknowledged superior was sketching, drawing, and painting, which was little comfort, indeed. Laura saw James's admiration for Elizabeth grow daily, and was privy to all his hopes and fears concerning her. As the most distinguished bachelor in Port Royal by the time Elizabeth reached an eligible age, Captain James Norrington had every right to expect her hand. Thus it became Laura's painful duty to advise James on his courtship to the reluctant Elizabeth.

Laura was sixteen when reunited with James, and had been by no means ineligible, but somehow had never found his equal, or even a close second. Despite her good nature, tolerable looks, and decent dowry, she had never been truly courted, and consequently reached her bloom unnoticed. Her best years slipped by in the service of her friends and sisters, who all married well and left – Hannah to a New England whaler's captain; Morgaine to a well-to-do planter whose estate lay a full day's ride from Port Royal; Agatha to a very minor nobleman who made his home in London – and then in the service of her mother, who was left alone when Captain Bell vanished in the Pacific. Thus Laura found herself to be twenty-four, teetering on the edge of permanent spinsterhood, taking care of her widowed mother, in love with the same oblivious man she had been in love with for twenty years.

The reader will have to excuse Laura, then, for being a bit frustrated when the bereaved Commodore James Norrington came to her door after the single most trying day of his existence.


	2. Comforting the Commodore

**(Author's Notes – I don't know whether I mentioned in the last chapter, but a spinet is an early piano … thought I should mention that.**

**This chapter owes a large nod to Mansfield Park! And without further ado, Chapter 2: In which Laura attempts to comfort the Commodore for his loss, and is thanked for her pains by the appearance of gasp Mary Sue!**

**Please, please, R&R!)**

It was another sweltering day in Port Royal, like the day before and before that and so on into an eternity of hellish heat. Laura Bell, though there was to be a great hanging that day, of Captain Jack Sparrow, had opted to stay at home instead of watching the poor man die. Therefore Laura stayed at home and sketched, while Mrs. Bell went to the hanging herself, and thence to her friend, Mrs. Stokesworth's home. It caused not a little pang of regret to Laura that she was of an age where she could be left alone and not worry of a travesty against propriety.

Not only her aversion to watching a man die kept Laura home, but also her unwillingness to see, after all this time, James and Elizabeth together. Laura had never, ever given any public sign of her affection for James or given anyone cause to believe that she objected in the strongest way possible to the impending nuptials. She was always all praise of Elizabeth, and congratulated the couple with a smile that hid a crumbling heart. For Laura had realized, after eighteen years, the terrible truth that she was too plain, too old, too undistinguished and too much of a nobody to attract the attention of the illustrious Commodore James Norrington.

Laura had given her resolve not to cry, and she was not a woman to break her word. James had never been under any obligations to her and, most importantly, he was happy with Miss Swann. If James was happy, then Laura, by merit of her regard for him, must too be happy. The only thing that gave Laura more joy than to see James smile was to see him smile at her or because of her, and, Laura did manage to convince herself that seeing James happily married to Miss Swann would make her happier than if she herself were to become Mrs. Norrington.

Along this train of thought, Laura was absentmindedly sketching James and Elizabeth as she had seen them last, paying, as she was wont to do, more attention to the detail of his person than to hers. The differences between them, she concluded, were striking, but they made a handsome couple. Installed in from of the open window, feeling the sea breeze wash over her, Laura almost forgot her troubles for a precious few seconds.

That is, until, someone pounded the knockers of the front door, and in a rare bout of irritation, Laura almost ordered the butler to send the visitor away. Before she could send a footman down to do so, however, the visitor appeared in the doorway. He was, of course, Commodore James Norrington, returned from the hanging.

Laura Bell had never been able to deny James anything, and this incident proved no exception.

James stood, dominating the entrance with his stature and best uniform, yet what should have been impressive was not so – his shoulders slumped and head hung, as though only his dignity kept him upright; his eyes were dull and his hands trembled, shaking the hat he held in them. Laura did not need to be half as sharp as she was to distinguish that something was very, very wrong.

"James?"

He said nothing, entering silently and proceeded to stare mindlessly out the window behind Laura.

"James!"

"It's over," he said cryptically, with a tragic smile that wrung Laura's already tried heart.

She got to her feet, taking his hat and heavy uniform coat, before maneuvering James onto the couch, and herself sat a respectful distance away.

"James, you are not yourself. What is over?"

He looked at her with what could be regarded as a dead man's stare.

"My engagement to Miss Swann. She has declared her true affection for Mr. Turner, and I have let go of her word. Furthermore, I have let Sparrow escape. Do you too have some terrible news you can load upon me? Have you anything to say that could possibly make my day worse?"

Laura felt as she did when James or anyone else came to her in a great deal of pain – as though bands were tightening around her heart.

"James, I could never wound you intentionally. As your oldest friend, my station lies in comforting you, not bringing you grief."

She rose and tugged the bell sharply. Janet was there in a matter of moments.

"Send up a pot of tea, a pitcher of lemonade, and some pastries. You'd best decant some of Captain Bell's best brandy, too."

Returning to her seat she found James still in shock, still staring.

"I've sent for some refreshments, but I must insist you stay for dinner. I won't have you wandering around like this."

"I don't want to impose, Laura."

Her already tried heart skipped a beat when he said her name.

"It is no imposition on me, I assure you," she managed to say without looking him square in the eyes (it was the kiss of death for her to stare at him there, for then she would be miserably lost and incoherent for the next day at the least), "Mother went to Fort Charles for the … ceremony, and prior to that she intended to sup at Mrs. Stokesworth's, so you do not impose on her either."

"Yet you could not wish your afternoon's peace to be interrupted by a miserable soul."

"I would not want a dear," she nearly choked on the words as she looked up at him, "friend to suffer if I could be of any use at all!"

Laura flushed and studied her hands, feeling his gaze on her heated cheeks. James was thankfully oblivious, noting her discomfort to seeing him so put out.

"You were always too good to me, Laura," he smiled sadly, "But there is nothing you can do for me. Can you mend a broken heart?"

"I can do anything that will be of service to anyone," she affirmed.

Before the moment got too intense, Janet bustled in, oblivious to the sequence within – the Commodore sitting broken-hearted next to her mistress, whom the entire household knew to be desperately in love with him. Carefully avoiding contact with the two, she deposited the heavy tray and left.

"What will you have?"

"Tea," was the monotone response.

Laura poured his cup halfway, and dashed in the rest with her Father's brandy, allotting herself a small glass of lemonade. With practiced but not exactly natural grace, she balanced the teacup, the glass and the platter of pastries, bearing the lot over to the couch.

"Can I get you anything else?"

"No, no. Nothing."

"James, tell me something else I can do!"

"There is nothing. You have been kind and gracious, Laura. That is all I can ask of you with a clear conscience."

"Nevertheless, I am determined to succeed in raising your spirits, James," Laura managed to declare, as he looked down at his hands, giving her an idea, "My spinet is frightfully out of practice, but I will play if you will sing. If I recall correctly, it was a favorite pastime of yours."

He did not look up, or even acknowledge her suggestion. In a reckless instant, Laura tapped his hand hesitantly with her own.

"James," she whispered.

He looked up, at her, everything gone from his eyes, something which frightened Laura even more than the pain she had seen in them before.

"If you are so determined, Laura, I shall, of course, comply."

And so the two of them processed across the hall to the music room, his posture stiff and hers more saddened. As Laura thought desperately to herself what songs she knew which would _not _remind James of Elizabeth, the man himself began flipping through her music.

So she did what any woman of sense would do in the situation: sat on the bench and launched into a lively folk tune. James, however distracted by heartbreak and the sunset slanting through the west windows, could discern her intentions, but jumped in on the second verse gamely. To him, at least as she had been for as long as he had known her, Laura was his nearest confidant and as dear to him as the sisters he had lost eighteen years ago. Seeing Laura do something he knew to be a distasteful exercise for her, all for the sake of comforting and distracting him, touched him in a way that few things could; yet it was not the love that Laura wanted.

Some time later, James had apparently had enough, until he declared that he had sung enough, now it was Laura's turn. This could do nothing but humiliate Laura; she knew how poorly her girlish soprano compared to Elizabeth's commanding alto, but if James wished her to do it …

Laura found it hard to breathe, and even harder to sing well, watching him play, which he did, very elegantly. Mercifully he picked an easy sea-shanty he had taught her years before, and with a little trouble, Laura managed the piece without disgracing herself. He gave her an encouraging smile, thinking her nervousness was all due to her lack of practice, and played a few harmonies before the next. Things went on in this manner for a little, and Laura was blessed with seeing him smile at her a few more times, before the sun teetered on the edge of the horizon, and Laura had to light the candles around the room. By the time she had finished, James had started to tinker absentmindedly on the spinet, and before long Laura recognized a familiar tune.

"Play it for me, Laura, will you? Play _The Water is Wide_?"

As was stated before, Laura could not deny James anything, even when she feared it would not help him at all. Reluctantly, she sat, positioning her skirts and mentally preparing herself for the ordeal. Hesitantly, she began, playing the familiar air with a soft grace which is found only in tragedy. James began, almost as quietly as she, but his baritone inevitably swelled with the ebb and flow of the song.

"**_The water is wide, I cannot get o'er_****_  
_****_And neither have I wings to fly._****_  
_****_O go and get me some little boat,_****_  
_****_To carry o'er my true love and I._**

**__**

**_Must I be bound, O and she go free!_****_  
_****_Must I love one thing that does not love me!_****_  
_****_Why should I act such a childish part,_****_  
_****_And love a girl that will break my heart._**

**__**

**_There is a ship sailing on the sea,_****_  
_****_She's loaded deep as deep can be,_****_  
_****_But not so deep as in love I am;_****_  
_****_I care not if I sink or swim._**

**__**

**_O love is handsome and love is fine,_****_  
_****_And love is charming when it is true;_****_  
_****_As it grows older it groweth colder_****_  
_****_And fades away like the morning dew."_**

**Laura had heard him sing louder, sing truer, and sing more beautifully, but this hit home in a way that nothing he had ever sung before had. It was the emotion in his voice, and the look in his eyes, his beaten posture – if it were not for propriety she would have leapt from the bench and put her arms around him. As it was, she had only her words to try and heal him.**

**"You did a noble thing, James," was the best thing she could say.**

**"What I did I did to save my dignity. Do not accuse me of being a good person, Laura, I am not, else I should not be in this predicament. Bad things don't happen to good people."**

**"James," Laura said, standing up before him, and doing her best to catch his evasive gaze, no matter how paralyzing it was to her, "Listen to me. Bad things happen to good people. My father is lost, yet he was praised as a decent man. You, James, I have known all my life and I know you to be a good man."**

**"Laura … "**

**"It was a noble thing you did, James. You had her word, and you could have held her to it. But you did not. You loved her truly enough that her happiness meant more than your own. I'm not saying that this is an easy decision, or one that you will never regret, but it was a noble one."**

**"I can't live up to it."**

**"You can, James, because I know you. I know it hurts, to love someone so deeply you feel as though you cannot exist without them, without their voice and their smile, and then losing them. You feel lost and worthless, having spent so much of your life on them, and then realizing that the future you imagined is no longer there. When darkness falls you wish the sun never to rise, when it rains you wish it never to stop, when you bleed you never want the wound to heal. We are human, James. We suffer, we ache, we cry salty tears and we bleed crimson blood. But because we are human, though we are fragile, we are strong if we will ourselves to. When it is dark, there will always be a light for you; when it rains, there will always be shelter; when you bleed a bandage will always be to hand. When we fall, we rise again, James."**

**Laura finally locked gazes with him, willing herself to stay strong for James, knowing now he had nowhere else to go, and no one else to confide in. The Commodore was above every man on the station, save Governor Swann, and to visit him would be the acutest sort of agony possible. The moment was tense, Laura feared left she give away her decades-kept secret and James again realizing, unconsciously and gradually to be sure, what he had seen in her eight years ago. Time was slow to both parties; Laura heard the clock strike distinctly each second as if eons apart, hoping desperately that she had said the right things.**

**Suddenly, in defiance of propriety, Laura found herself pressed against him through no will of her own. In utter shock she felt his hands around her shoulders, his chin atop her head, and realized the clock she heard was his heart, and realized that the greatest joy in life was no longer simply to be smiled at, but to be wanted.**

**"You're worth your weight in gold, Laura," she heard him whisper, and was on the verge of fainting with happiness.**

**A knock from nowhere parted them, Janet walked in on a scene that would have caused no suspicions of the events prior.**

**"There's a lady in the hall calling for the Commodore," she said with a curtsey, "Says it's urgent."**

**For once in her life, Laura could have cursed an innocent stranger, but had to play the gracious hostess. She left to fetch James's hat and coat, and then led him downstairs to the mysterious lady.**

**She stood with her back to them, hidden in a costly velvet cloak. Before she could have even heard the footsteps, however, she turned to face them. Laura's breath caught in her throat.**

**The lady was tall, much taller than her, and her stature was that of a noblewoman – proud and elegant. Perfect ivory skin, like the reflection of the moon on a still sea, caught the warm glow of the candlelight, giving it an unearthly tone. Her face was clear of all blemishes; she had no freckles like those that dotted Laura's face and nose. She had a dainty nose, neatly nestled in her porcelain face above rose-red lips, and her entire countenance was dominated by her eyes. They were like nothing Laura had ever seen before – blue like calm, tropical skies, lit with a glow that put the sun to shame. Flowing brown hair cascaded down her swan-like neck, half covering a buxom bosom clothed in the finest gown Port-Royal had ever seen – A confection of midnight-blue satin set off against stark white decorations, bring out the perfection of her beauty.**

**"Good evening, Commodore Norrington," the lady said in a voice that outshone the heavenliest choirs of angels, "I am Belle St. Croix."**


	3. Authoress's Advice

**(Author's Notes – Thank you, as always, to my reviewer(s)! Much appreciated! Please, read and review, I am quite desperate for feedback on this little skit!**

**So, here I am, on the 3rd chapter already! I have an outline of events and a rough draft of a few chapters ahead – I'm working! I don't know how long it will be, but I'm having fun writing it, so … Well, the third chapter: in which Laura begins to think about what she wants/deserves and meets the Authoress in defiance of the space-time continuum!**

**Oh, I almost forgot! The girl speaking to Brokenspar when Laura enters in one of my own, from a story over on … and the "nightgown" is an empire waist dress. I felt a strange urge to throw one of my other characters in. Well, now really, on to the story!)**

James left without a word to Laura, who was left stunned, shattered, and otherwise near-heartbroken (though this was nearly always a perpetual state for her) in the grand, empty hall. It was hard to believe that he, her James, had walked from her side, newly heartbroken himself, at the single, smoldering "Come hither" glance under that Belle St. Croix's impossibly long eyelashes.

It was also hard for her not to feel wronged; indeed, for the first time in her life, she felt as though the world owed her something for many services rendered. Hadn't she looked after her sisters? Hadn't she been left with the care of her mother? Hadn't she been there for James as long as she could remember, never complaining when he took advantage of her quiet, kind ways, with nothing but a paltry smile in return for everything she had done? Laura loved him more dearly now than ever before – loved him despite knowing that he loved that Elizabeth Swann, though she had trampled on him and his heart. Just when he might have noticed her, some other woman had to come in and take him from her arms. Everything she had ever thought before – all the hours spent denying her worth were gone. She wanted one thing out of life, and had dedicated her own to being a worthy woman. And now, after twenty years, she realized something else:

"It's not fair!"

Laura crumpled to the cold stone floor, breaking into mildly childish sobs. Her maid, Janet, was there in an instant, and she, in a melodramatic voice, whispered, "You should see _her_."

"Who?"

"The Authoress. She can help you."

"How do I find her?

"Simple. Go to the attic and walk until you come the brick outer-wall, where you must knock on the protruding brick once. You will then find yourself in a wide, open field filled with doors of ever size and color imaginable. Locate the large white one with the Lion's fangs as a knocker, and enter to the island beach. Beware of the flesh-eating crabs as you look for the golden nautilus shell. When you do have it in your hand, you must shout 'Brokenspar' into it."

"Simple?"

Laura had become more and more intimidated as her maid rambled about finding the mysterious Authoress, but now she was just short of terrified.

"Well," Janet sighed, "You could get around all that and just say 'Brokenspar' right now; that's get you there."

"Brokenspar?"

Laura immediately found herself in a small blue room, with a dirty and worn carpet taken up almost entirely by books. On the bed in the corner, perched on the only paper-free space, was a girl in her late teens, dressed in the oddest, most masculine fashion Laura had ever seen a woman adopt, tapping at some sort of contraption and peering at a moving picture. She was in a deep conversation with another girl, slightly older than herself – the girl on the bed – who had a ghastly scar running down the side of her face, was playing with a dagger, and was wearing what amounted to a high-waisted nightgown (at least to Laura). As soon as they noticed her, the girl with the dagger rose and said calmly, "Blackthorne," and disappeared.

"Ah," smiled the girl on the bed without even looking up, "You must be Laura Bell. I can't say that I've been expecting you, but please, have a seat … if you can find one."

"Who are you? I came to see the Authoress."

Laura had been previously mildly frightened of the Authoress when she had not a face to the name, but now when she realized the authoress was in fact a girl, she had lost that sense of dread.

"I am the Authoress. Surprised?"

Laura nodded.

The blond girl laughed, managing to say in her mirth, "They always are."

The Authoress … Brokenspar, Laura assumed … folded down the moving picture over the mechanism and said cheerily, "Well, Laura Bell, what can I do for you?"

"Are you in charge of my life?"

"After a fashion. It's complicated. You are a denizen of my imagination, in putting you to paper, I created you and your story. Well, that's not completely true. You may be a denizen of my imagination, and your family, but the Port Royal you exist in, all the people, the officers, and the esteemed Commodore Norrington are not my creations. They belong to Disney – they're from a movie called _Pirates of the Caribbean: The Curse of the Black Pearl_. Which, also, is not my idea. Do you honestly think that if I was writing the script I'd let Norrington off with such a rough ending? Furthermore, in love with that nasty little two-timing wench Elizabeth Swann? Please. You're my solution to the end of the movie, sort of."

"Wait," Laura pleaded, hand to her head, utterly confused, "What?"

Brokenspar shook her head.

"Like I said, it's complicated. I created you, and since I like characters to stay in character, I don't really have too much control over where the rest of the story goes. If I get clever, I can exert more, but at the present I'm sort of lazy."

"Still … Movie … Pirates … Disney … Imagination?"

"Something like that."

"So Port Royal, the Swanns, Mr. Turner, Commodore Norrington and the Navy, Jack Sparrow – they're all not your characters, like me?"

"Correct."

"So, what about Belle St. Croix?"

"Huh?"

Brokenspar started a bit, thinking she misheard.

"Belle St. Croix. The lady who walked off with James after the music room incident."

"I didn't write in a lady named Belle St. Croix! What kind of name is that, anyway? She sounds like … "

Brokenspar trailed off and paled horribly, muttering something like, "No, no, it can't be true!"

"What?"

"Belle St. Croix sounds like … she must be a Mary Sue!"

"A Mary-Sue?"

Brokenspar shuddered, crossing herself superstitiously.

"A Mary-Sue is the most feared beast among all those known to the unwary fiction writer. She is thoughtless, mindless and causes destruction among canon wherever she goes. Nasty, vain, little one dimensional things; nearly impossible to eradicate."

"Still, what is she?"

"She is, supposedly the perfect woman, but only on the surface," Brokenspar muttered as she shook her head, "She is completely superficial. A Mary-Sue is unfailingly the prettiest woman a man has ever seen, has a distressing past where she was abused or her parents died, or both, which supposedly gives the hero something to love about her behind her looks – something besides a clearly very … physical … attraction. There is almost nothing else about her. She's a curse to fiction."

"This Belle St. Croix is a Mary-Sue."

Brokenspar nodded sadly.

"I'm afraid to say so. And the tragedy is, especially for such a character as yourself, her sole goal is to displace you in James's affections wholly – so much so that he will not even remember your name or how you saved his sister's life the day you met twenty years ago. And when James has forgotten about you, you shall be banished to Literary Limbo."

Laura didn't know what was worse – a life without James, or none at all. She supposed, rashly, that if James should forget her, than she should consider taking her own life, but it was a passing fancy. James could never, would never forget her.

"Can't you just write her out?"

"I could, and I wouldn't mind a painful death, like a shark attack. But your tale is infected now, Laura. Should I kill one, another will arise, and she will be angry. Tick off a Mary-Sue and she kills the canon-ish love interest. So … I'm afraid it's out of the question right now. If you manage to marry James happily, they'll have to go away, but until then … You aren't going to have a happy life."

"When," muttered Laura mutinously, "Has it not been?"

Brokenspar lifted an eyebrow, a skill she had practiced much.

"Do you want a rewrite as a mindless bar-wench?"

"No!"

"Much obliged, Laura. Now, what I can do for you," Brokenspar smiled, "I can rewrite the last chapter from where the infection came in … so, right about where you and dear James have that very Mansfield Park embrace."

"Mansfield Park?"

"Book written about a century after your time. Jane Austen. The heroine, Fanny, is in love with Edmund, who thinks of her only as a friend because his attentions are otherwise engaged by the alluring Mary. Edmund embraces Fanny when he finds one of his sisters has committed adultery and the other has eloped with a man of poor fortune – in a time of need of comfort – having, of course, no idea."

A confused look crossed Laura's face again. What was it that Brokenspar was rattling off about?

"Am I like Fanny?"

"Perhaps in situation, slightly similar, and a little in personality. I think you have more of a spine, though."

"A spine?"

"Spunk. Spirit. Determination."

"I see," Laura said, though she definitely had no idea.

"The point is – you love James."

Laura didn't even need to hesitate to think about her answer – long ago she had quit denying it.

"I do, deeply and painfully."

"James, to the best of your knowledge, loves Elizabeth, and now this Belle St. Croix."

"I do not want to think it so, but …"

"I want you and James to be happy. Ergo – the marriage of Laura Bell to James Norrington, RN."

"Was that your intention in creating me?"

Both paused a beat.

"Partly. But you were just too much fun to write."

"I think I get it now," Laura sighed sadly.

"No, no, you don't, because I don't. Now, as soon as you get sent back, you shall be just before the embrace. Do everything you can to secure his heart, within reason, and I shall search for a solution. With any luck, this incident shall blow over."

Brokenspar turned back to the moving picture.

"Ah … Brokenspar?"

"What?"

"How do I return?"

"Simple. Just say 'Bell'."

"Bell?"


	4. An Unexpected Turn of Events

**(Author's Notes – Well, here I am, Chapter 4! Thank you, thank you, thank you to my lovely reviewers, whose feedback I appreciate immensely!**

**As someone was concerned – Belle St. Croix is going to come back with a vengeance in the next chapter, I promise. And it will be funny. I promise! I hope the events chronicled in this one make up for her inestimable absence. So, without further ado, Brokenspar presents Chapter 4: In which Laura returns to Port Royal and behaves in a compromising manner which will come back to haunt her.)**

Laura found herself standing in front of James a full fifteen minutes before she had defied space and time to visit the authoress. Without warning, but expecting it this time, she found herself in his embrace. No knock interrupted and they stood there for a good, long time.

"James?"

"Hmmm?"

She tried, or started to say, "Shouldn't we go down to dinner?" However, she never quite got there, for Laura had tilted her head up to speak more clearly, just as James had tilted his down to hear her more clearly. The result of which was that, accidentally, of course, their lips met halfway.

And, of course, both of them should have backed away from it immediately, indeed, propriety demanded it. Laura blinked but stood rooted to the spot. In fact, they were both rooted to the spot, exhibiting the phenomenon which occurs when one touches an electrical current – one cannot move, or step away. Laura knew this was wrong, but had, at the same time, never felt anything so right in her entire life. And though she knew not what lay in James's heart, at least concerning this very startling development, he had not backed away either.

When the unlikely couple did part for air it just happened, through absolutely no volition of either party, that they kissed again. And again. Until she found herself with her back pressed against the wall and behaving in a very inappropriate manner with the aforementioned Commodore Norrington, and, despite her better sense, had to admit to herself that though she had never kissed a man before, the experience itself was pleasant. What she should have been wondering about was not how he was so good at it, but rather that this was getting too far rather too quickly.

Because very soon thinking was rendered useless, and when she again regained her right mind, she was in an even more inappropriate position – in bed, with the same man asleep on her bare shoulder.

Laura could remember virtually nothing of what had happened before, but as realization dawned, she panicked. She, Laura Bell, was in bed and had … done the deed … with James Norrington – **Commodore** James Norrington, the pride of Port Royal and a man who had risen above her through his merit, absolutely infallible and god-like in the eyes of the public, a man recently, that day, heartbroken. She wanted more than anything to believe that he loved her, but she feared that this was a dreadful mistake brought on by the stress the two of them had endured. What would he say when he woke up? What would she say? What if … What if she, Laura Bell, an unmarried woman, was with child – with James's child?

Modesty demanded … well, modesty was almost useless now. Her reputation, should this be kept a secret, might survive – so long as she was not with child – but her virtue, her character, what kept her hopeful when her life could not get worse, was absolutely, irrevocably gone!

And even in defiance of her panic over the situation, she began to toy absentmindedly with his hair, however improper that was. Laura wanted to fall asleep, into oblivion, but knew she could not, for she had to face her wages, even as he began to stir.

"Laura?"

When James woke, she – her face – was the first thing he saw. He had no idea how he'd gotten there, given the last thing he really remembered was the accidental kiss, and now he, James Norrington, **Commodore** James Norrington, was in bed with his oldest friend, Laura Bell, one of the kindest, gentlest, most innocent girls in Port Royal, a girl on the edge of spinsterhood and poverty, and by merit of his actions had robbed of any chance at a good marriage.

Starting up from her shoulder, he was unable to face her, the woman … girl, really, though she was twenty four … he had wronged, hurt so terribly.

"Oh God, Laura, what have I done to you?"

She certainly didn't know what to say to him, only that relations between the two were irrevocably ruined. She would never be able to speak to him again, and she would discover she was with child and of course she would never be able to uproot her mother so she would have to bear _his_ child in Port Royal and be forever banished from society and ruined.

"It's both of our faults."

"Why didn't you stop me, Laura? Don't answer that, never mind, I know you and I know full well why. You thought this would help me – you've never denied me anything, and now you've handed over this without question. Why, Laura? Why?"

"Why did I let it get this far or why have I always been so generous towards you?"

"The latter will explain both."

This was it. Though she felt it could only wound him, he had asked her and expected her honesty.

"I'm afraid my answer will only cause you pain."

"I deserve nothing more."

"I don't want to hurt-"

"Laura!"

"James," she said softly, still watching his back, "Look at me. I want to face you when I say this. I've always been your closest friend and nothing more, but," she took a steadying breath as he finally looked at her, "I have, will always, love you. For twenty years now, there has been but one ambition in my head, and it is an impossible one. I could never make you happy as a bride, that you made clear, so I strove to do so as your friend – you don't know the joy your smile gave me! I tell you this only because I know you cannot possibly return my feelings, but you expect my honesty and you must know, then, that I love you."

Laura and James remained, gazes locked for silent eternity until she could bear it no more. She turned away, wrapping herself in the sheet despite the heat of the night. Without willing anything she felt a snap and a slight tear began to drop down her cheek. She didn't know what she was hoping for anymore – a release from the shame and pain, perhaps – certainly she could not hope for redemption, not after this.

And, as was the norm in Laura's life, she did not get what she wanted.

She got something better.

Strong arms, _his_ arms, enfolded her in a protective embrace, one holding her against his chest and the other stroked her hair and brushed away the solitary tear.

"Please don't cry, Laura. You know I can't stand it when you do. I'm sorry – can you forgive me? Please don't cry. Please."

She stopped long enough to look up at James, who would never, ever be hers.

"I'd be lying if I told you I didn't love Miss Swann, Laura."

Laura almost started crying again, and looked down.

"But I'd also be lying should I say that I didn't love you as well. When I first saw you, Laura," he whispered as he tilted her chin up, "after that ten year absence, I almost asked you to marry me on the spot, but I misjudged you. I thought you could not possibly bear affection for a man you had not seen in ten years.

"Maybe, and I do tell you in all honesty, I have loved Miss Swann better, but it was because you were always my friend and gave no indication of wishing more.

"And I realize I do this partly out of duty to you, whom I have wronged, but I do so because I do love you as well. Laura, will you marry me?"

She found herself thinking this was all a dream, but no! James had truly asked her!

"I will, but James! We must speak of this to no one! This incident, we must forget it occurred!"

"Have no fear, Laura."

She threw her arms around his neck and felt a single, light kiss on her cheek. The night had grown colder, and the two found their way back into a shirt for him or a chemise for her. As she blew out the last candle and moved to go back to bed, she heard a voice in the dark.

"Laura?"

"James?"

"May I … that is … would you mind if … I stayed the night?"

"You shouldn't have to ask."

And so it happened that Laura Bell fell asleep easily for the first time in years, cradled against her beloved James, as he, too, drifted off.

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Quite a distance away in time, space and reality, Brokenspar took a casual sip from a mug of tea, glanced at the computer screen, and gasped.

"No way. It can't be back!"


	5. Promises, Falls, and Mispronunciations

**(Author's Notes: Thank you, thank you, thank you to my lovely reviewers! A tot of virtual rum on me! I'm glad you all like it – I'm not usually a comic writer, so I'm glad you find my stab at parody funny! And it's nice to know you like the serious bits, too. I'd love some predictions about where I'm taking this – a humble request from yours truly.**

**I don't have too much to say here, other than certain other canon characters will be making appearances in the next chapters - some short and some coming in for major roles. And yes, Belle St. Croix -hiss- is back! Note - James addresses Belle St. Croix as Belle, and Laura addresses her as Miss St. Croix.)**

Laura decided her memory was getting dotty, when she woke the next morning and for a second did not remember how Commodore James Norrington had ended up in her bed, arms protectively around her waist. As remembrance of the events and sentiments of the night before returned, she smiled placidly before deciding that the world was a very good place, after all the misery she had been subjected to at its hands. Gently, nervously almost, she brushed his knuckles. Nothing – he did not stir. No matter. The morning could not have been more perfect.

Until she realized his breath on her neck tickled abominably, then she had to do something about it.

"James," she whispered over her shoulder, "James."

"Hmmm?"

"It's morning."

"We ought to get up, I suppose."

Laura made a move to do so, but was prevented from doing so by James's continuing embrace.

"James."

"Stay, Laura, please. As ridiculous and as childish as it sounds, I really don't want to get up."

"And you need me to stay?"

"I'd prefer it, yes."

She stopped trying to get up, taken by a very mischievous turn of thought.

"Fine. I can think of no better way to compromise our reputations."

"That wasn't my intention."

"What was your intention?"

"In what?"

"In the events of the last twelve hours."

"To marry you."

"You have left me with no choice, I must marry you."

"Are you saying you don't want to marry me?"

"James!"

"I'm teasing you, Laura!"

"I know. But James, we are going to be married, right? You promise, right?"

James let go of her, pushing himself up to a sitting position. Laura followed suit, only to be embraced again.

"As soon as possible," he said finally, "But right now, Laura, leave such matters be. This is the first morning I've woken up and been glad to be alive."

With that, both of them fell into a comfortable silence, watching the sun rise through the wide windows on the east wall. Neither truly minded the impropriety of the situation – as long as she could hear the beat of his heart and he could smell her gentle lavender scent, both of them were content. It took James and Laura a while to realize that he was holding her hand. The rest of the world was somewhat irrelevant at that point, and they were content to leave it be so.

When the clock struck a late hour, however, it became inevitable that the couple should have to part. Though there was almost no point in being discreet, as both reasoned at least part of the household had to know, Laura and James parted secretly. He dressed himself efficiently and left, sneaking to the sitting room as she called for Janet.

"Miss Bell?"

"Janet, dress me."

She began the long process of clothing her mistress, made difficult by Laura's alternating energy and quiet. When Janet had finally gotten Laura into the blue cotton round gown, and brushed back her strangely tousled hair, she, having served Laura since she was a small girl, knew there was something amiss, which was confirmed by the state of the bed.

Laura caught Janet's significant look and sighed. Janet would know of the engagement soon enough, and could be trusted.

"Commodore Norrington and I … have come to an understanding."

Janet's eyebrows rose.

"Neither of us … had … control. What happened was an accident, symptomatic of truer regard. We are, thankfully, engaged."

Laura lowered her voice.

"Don't tell anyone, and for the love of me, do the washing yourself!"

"Yes, Miss Laura. And may I be the first of many to congratulate you on your impending marriage. Lord, what am I saying? It's about time you two figured things out. For being one of the most honest souls in Port Royal, you couldn't tell him earlier? And for him being one of the brightest, it took him until he was in your bed to figure out you loved him?"

Laura was stunned, comically almost. Had she been in a cartoon – an invention she had no idea of save the political cartoons in the papers – she would have had large eyes and her jaw on the floor.

"Janet!"

"Begging your pardon, Miss, but it's the truth," she shrugged.

"Did you know all along about my regard for the Commodore?"

"Since you were four, dear. You've been discreet about it to society, but it becomes obvious to us when you watch him leave in the window and have your father's best brandy decanted for him."

"Oh."

Laura seemed a bit recovered, but still seemed a bit put out.

"And I would hope he realized I loved him a bit before that, Janet."

Janet coughed something that sounded suspiciously like, "Men."

"Talk to the others and make them swear to say nothing if they know anything."

"It will be done – but Miss Laura, you were the last to bed and, you realize, it is a Saturday morning. The entire household is about tasks or at the marketplace. I believe I am the only soul who knows."

"Good. Now, if you'll excuse me, I had a guest to attend to."

Something close to a smirk crossed Laura's hitherto innocent features as she stepped out, down the hall and into the sitting room, the happiest woman in the world.

"James."

She held out her hand and he obliged with a proper kiss followed by an improper embrace.

"Laura."

Memories from the night before made her positively flush whenever she heard him say her name. Unlike Belle St. Croix, Laura's blush was not becoming, as it accented her freckles and was, even in cases where she was only mildly embarrassed – which was most definitely not the case in this incident – some sort of brash cerise. Nevertheless, it was, as things may be in such matters, the thought which counts, and James found himself losing his affection for Miss Swann rather more quickly that he would have thought he would.

"We can be married now, if you like. Bring your maid for our witness and we shall be legally married. The large ceremony can wait."

"Shan't I tell my mother?"

"You can tell her when we return."

The pair, almost married, regarded each other and weighed the situation, before coming to the unanimous conclusion that everything could wait for them to return. James offered her his arm, and they headed off.

"Janet! Come with us! We are in need of a witness!"

Laura giggled – well, not a true girly giggle, but more of a lighthearted laugh – as the poor woman appeared at the top of the stairs, right behind Laura and James.

"Take this, Laura – my ring."

James slipped the signet ring off the last finger of his left hand, and handed it to Laura.

"Keep it. You'll have a proper ring when we marry. This, I hope, will do for now."

Both of them knew Laura would wear a worm if it signified a promise James had made to her, so it made Laura even happier than she had been a moment before to move the heavy gold signet ring over the ring finger of her left hand. The two began to process down the stairs as they heard hoof-beats on the drive.

"Is that Marcus, Janet?"

"I haven't sent for him, Miss Laura."

She shrugged, untroubled where she ought to have been, most emphatically. For when she and James were halfway down the steps, Janet shouted.

"Miss Laura! Your cape and bonnet!"

Laura stopped and turned, which would have been innocuous in itself, had James similarly stopped. As it was, he didn't, the consequences of which were immediate and frightening. Normally a reasonably well balanced man, James's center of gravity had quite gone with the excitement of the morning, and, as a result, the tug of Laura's stationary arm threw him off what little poise he had. Once he had started to fall in his full dress uniform, there was no force on heaven or earth that could have stopped him.

Laura made a valiant effort, but could not stop him. In complete horror, she watched him tumble down the long flight, a tiny scream torn from her desperate throat when his head hit the floor with a sickening crack, oblivious to the fact the perfect Belle St. Croix had just walked in.

"James!"

Laura rushed down the stairs, but was too late to his side after Belle St. Croix.

"James! James!"

Oh, she was so close, as she rushed, but all her shouting did not stir him. Someone else knelt by his side, brushing his head with her dainty gloved hands.

"Wake up, James," the lady whispered calmly, in a voice Laura hoped never to hear again, "You there! Send for a doctor!"

It shocked Laura to realize that the lady was ordering her about in her own house. But that was immaterial when James was hurt because of her. Janet, however, ran past her, glaring at her to stay in one place where a servant could do just as well.

As she reached his side, James began to stir.

"Laura?"

"No, James. Belle."

The first thing James saw when he came to was a pair of luminescent blue eyes set in the most beautiful face he had ever seen, more beautiful that even than the legendary countenance of Miss Swann. There was a dull ache in the back of his mind, a mist, and a glimmer of recognition doused by the intensity of the lady's stare. It was as if his whole life he had been waiting for the right woman. She had not been Miss Swann. She had been Belle. And before he could think of anything else, he found himself in love. Deep in love.

James came to his feet slowly, awkwardly, eyes only on Belle – her deep eyes, her ivory skin, her flowing hair and pianist's hands, and her beautiful dress.

"I fancy a walk by the cliffs, James. But I'm afraid my father is too busy with his governorali … govena … gorve … "

Laura couldn't believe it!

"Gubernatorial, I believe is the word you search for, Miss St. Croix."

"Right," she smiled, batting her impossibly long lashes and James soon forgot, in light of her perfect lashes and angelic voice, her stupidity, "Gubernatorial duties. My father is too busy with his gubetaro … glubantinor … gubernatorial duties to be my escort. Would you do me the honor, James?"

"My pleasure, Belle."

Laura had to know what had happened.

"Wait – Miss St. Croix – your father, the governor? What of Governor Swann?"

"Weatherby Swann is no longer the Governor. His term has expired, and, by order of his Majesty King William the Third -"

"Miss St. Croix … the king is his Majesty King George the First."

"That's what I meant," she smiled again, favoring her audience with a blinding smile, "By order of His Majesty King George the Third-"

"First, Miss St. Croix, First!"

"-His Majesty King George the First, my father is the new Governor of Jamaica."

"I must congratulate your father, then!"

To Laura, this was getting simultaneously more ridiculous and more confusing.

"My father? Lord St. Croix? I'm sure he would appreciate your thanks, James."

"Let us make haste, then, Belle!"

A strangled cry of, "James," caught in Laura's throat as the delirious couple waltzed through the door without as much as a by-your-leave. Without willing anything, Laura reached out her left hand for the door.

"James."

It was not a cry, nor was it a spoken word. No, the very sound differed so greatly from the way that Belle St. Croix had said it. That woman had almost sung his name, like a child's snatch of tune. Laura said it, whimpered it, wailed it, sobbed it, pleaded it, begged it, shouted it – all in the same, broken syllable. That St. Croix woman had called him like a Siren collecting her prize; Laura whispered it like a supplicant begging the favor of the gods at an abandoned shrine – hopeless in the face of the end.

"James," she repeated, her voice raw and inaudible.

Another solitary tear slid down her flawed, freckled cheek, and in that instant, her heartbreak was stunningly beautiful.

But Laura was no stranger to heartbreak, and though she bent under the weight of being abandoned yet again, she did not break. Laura swore she would never break, and she was a woman – yes, she was a woman, so irrevocably a woman now – of her word. Even if James abandoned her, she had enough to live for. And Laura, watching the sun glint off the ring, his ring, found some hope.

"BROKENSPAR!"


	6. Former Governor, Lieutenants, Captain?

**(Author's Notes – Yes, I'm back, with an unusually speedy update! Thank you, thank you, thank you to my lovely reviewers!**

**I'm glad you all hate Belle St. Croix – I'm doing my job right! I'm sorry to say her role is a somewhat long one, but worry not! In my world everyone gets exactly what they deserve – for better and worse. But there's a bit of insanity to suffer through first, which affords wonderful opportunity for action, adventure, romance, suspense, swordfights, revenge, midnight chases, captures, escapes, daring, tragedy, piracy, parody, insanity and – above all – true love! (Insert shades of The Princess Bride here).**

**Anyway, onto chapter 6, in which canon characters make appearances – some more memorable than others!)**

The next moment found Laura in the same, small, cluttered chamber as she had been before. This time, the Authoress was lying, half asleep on the bed, staring at the ceiling, with something that looked like earmuffs over her ears.

"Brokenspar?"

"Huh?"

Brokenspar jumped a foot into the air, bouncing a few times on the mattress before settling.

"Jesus, Laura, you scared me!"

Now that the earmuffs had been removed, a strange noise filled the room.

"What's that?"

"What?"

"That noise?"

"What noise?"

Brokenspar was clearly confused, looking high and low until she spotted her CD player, and then a look of horror came over her face.

"Noise? Laura Bell, that sound is _the_ Beatles!"

"Who?"

Brokenspar was dying now.

"THE BEATLES! Only the greatest band ever!"

"Oh … I see."

Her temper returning, Brokenspar immediately became more reasonable.

"This, Laura, is a CD player. You pop in the disk, and it plays music stored on said disk. Wonderful invention, really. Now, what can I do for you?"

"That St. Croix woman is back!"

All cheerfulness was gone.

"Bloody … I thought so, but truly? The infection is back?"

"I saw her waltz off with James with my own eyes."

"Badbadbadbadbad!"

"It gets worse," Laura whispered sadly, "After the embrace, Miss St. Croix wasn't there to interrupt … things got too far too quickly … one thing leads to another … James hasn't married me … my reputation will be moot … I'm afraid I'm with child."

Brokenspar. Was. Stunned.

"WHAT?"

"Please, don't make me repeat it, Brokenspar."

"You slept with Norrington?"

"I'm afraid I'm carrying his child, yes."

"Jesus Christ, Laura, this is bad. Badbadbadbadbad! God, I'd love to strangle that little wench!"

"If I were given to violence, I would too."

"Wait, are you sure you're with child?"

"No. It happened last night."

"Well, that's one thing that's being written into your story. A pregnancy test."

"I don't think we have those in my time," Laura murmured, somewhat frightened by the unreasoning fire in Brokenspar's eyes.

"Right. And you don't need it, you know."

"Why?"

"The girl who … does it … with the hero is always pregnant. Accepted rule of Mary-Suedom."

Laura crumpled to the floor.

"Brokenspar," she whispered, "What am I going to do?"

"Call me Lydia, for one. Brokenspar was fine for starters but it tends to get clunky and lose its dramatic appeal. And secondly, did you think you were in this alone? You are going to get the happy ending if I have to break all my pens and the keyboard to get you it! What I am going to do, Laura, is break some rules. Even if it doesn't work, we'll still have fun."

"Will it help me win James back?"

"Possibly. It, hopefully, will amuse you, if nothing else. Now, you're going to go back, and act like this never happened. Leave it to me. If I know anything about Norrington, it's what distracts him best – chasing and hanging pirates," Brokenspar smirked, "Do you remember a fellow named Jack Sparrow?"

If one thing had gone out of Laura's life, however briefly it had been in, it had left a huge hole in her existence. Fortunately, several things were piling in to stop the gap.

Finding herself once again in the front hall, she swept up the stairs and into the grand area of the second floor. Faint voices drifted from behind the sitting room door – one belonging to her mother, and the other belonging to the Former-Governor Swann.

A sad smile crossed Laura's face. At least her mother was happy and secure in her beau. Though Laura did not much like the idea of Miss Swann as a sister-in-law, she would be the last woman on Earth to interfere with another woman's -excepting Miss St. Croix's -romantic happiness. And what was wrong with a recent widow of good birth, good fortune, and good reputation from being courted by widower of good birth, fortune, and reputation?

And though Laura left them in peace, she could not resist a bit of a peek in. With all the stealth she could muster, she pressed her eye to the crack between the frame and the door. Within the room, Laura saw Mrs. Bell sitting next to Former-Governor Swann, who was, oddly enough, wigless and coatless – humbler, but also a seeming to be a little relieved to be … relieved … of his duties. The older pair was deep in a conversation Laura could not hear, so she passed smiling on, hoping for her mother's future happiness.

Laura made her way toward the music room, determined not to be driven from the place by memories. And her spinet could benefit from practice, she admitted to herself, though no amount would ever make her a truly superior player. Lovingly running her hands over the keys, Laura began to pick out a familiar tune.

**_"The is a ship sailing on the sea,_**

_**She's loaded deep as deep can be,**_

_**But not so deep as in love I am,**_

_**I care not if I sink or swim."**_

"Something troubles your thoughts, Sister?"

A tall, uniformed figure stood in the door. Well, two, to be perfectly precise, which Laura hoped normally to be, and especially around these two men.

"Nathan! Theo!"

Laura sprang from her perch on the plush bench to greet her surrogate brothers, the Lieutenants Gillette and Groves.

"Do come in, sit down! I haven't seen either of you since … since the Promotion ceremony! Shall I send for something?"

"Thank you, Laura, Theo and I are a bit done in ourselves," Nathan Gillette laughed, "I'll take a brandy if you have any. Theo?"

"Nathan, you are not drinking this early in the day. Lemonade. And, for the love of me, Laura, don't give Nathan any brandy! Commodore Norrington will have both our sorry hides if Nathan reports for watch inebriated again!"

Nathan rolled his eyes.

"As you were, Laura. Lemonade for all of us."

Laura, glad as ever to speak to them, gave a real smile as she pulled the bell for Janet.

"Don't stand on ceremony; I know it's beastly hot outside."

"Thought you'd never ask," Nathan laughed, tossing his coat and hat helter-skelter over the dusty harp, and proceeding to lounge gracefully in one of the wingback chairs.

Theo, as was his nature, was a more careful. His uniform coat was folded neatly and placed over the back of his chair, and his hat on the table beside him. With regards to posture he was similarly more careful.

The dramatic differences between the two men never failed to amuse Laura, or amaze her. Nathan was day and Theo was night; Nathan was the sky and Theo the sea – she could have gone on forever with the comparisons she had thought up over the years. Nathan she had known since their infancies, neither of them having changed much. It was through Nathan she had kept track of James in his long absence. Theo, on the other hand, was a more recent acquaintance, having been a midshipman on the _Dauntless_ when she made the fateful crossing from England eight years ago. Though it seemed like ages, Nathan and Theo had only known each other for eight years, and not even the love of the same woman – Madeline Delancey – could separate them.

"What have you been up to?"

"The Commodore hasn't told you?"

Laura hesitated before answering.

"No. He … left."

"What joke is this, Laura? The Commodore would never walk out on you," Nathan burst.

"He did, I assure you, Nathan. In the company of the new Governor's daughter."

Her two brothers gave a simultaneous shudder.

"That nasty forward little thing?"

"The stupid one?"

Nathan superstitiously crossed himself as Theo choked on his lemonade, a sour look that was most definitely not due to the flavor crossing his face.

"That one," Laura confirmed.

"Oh, the poor Commodore!"

"He seemed happy enough to leave."

Theowas stunned.

"You're lying, Laura! Tell me you're lying!"

"I regret that such a statement is not within my power."

The two men were immediately on their feet and beside her.

"Come on, Laura, sit down," Theo urged, leading her over to his chair.

"Do, Laura, we're less done in than you."

"Shall I send for your mother?"

"No, she is with the former Governor right now. I would not have them be disturbed for the world."

Nathan shot Theo a knowing glance.

"Nothing like young love, is there? When are the lovebirds going to be married, anyway? Port Royal's getting a bit sick of holding its breath."

Though the comment about love stung, and they all knew it, Laura smiled.

"Give them time, Nathan. They'll see this through."

"Speaking of lovebirds, Laura -"

"I told you. He left. With her."

"Bad luck."

Theo delivered a very sharp elbow to Nathan's gut. When Nathan had recovered his breath, he knocked Theo's wig clean off. By the time Theo had recovered it, Nathan had launched into the next part of their comedic routine – a backhanded near slap to the face. This skit, developed while the two were in their earliest days about ship, had been perfected over the years for Laura's benefit, and had never failed to cheer her up.

"You two will be the death of me, someday!"

"No, we're sure to die before you," Theo stated, "I'm afraid we must take our leave of you. Nathan has anchor watch, and we'd really best make sure the Commodore's in his right mind."

"Oh, blast, you had to remind me, Theo. Now there's no way out of it, and you'll have Madeline all to yourself! Promise to hold a ball sometime, Laura, we're quite starved for entertainment!"

The lieutenants regained their dress as started for the door, both kissing her hand goodbye. Nathan rushed out, afraid of being late for his duties, but Theo lingered a bit.

"Hang in there, Laura. The Commodore is going to come around sometime."

He smiled in the hopes of sparking a similar response, kissed her hand again, and left, humming a ballad.

Laura resumed her position at the piano, not a little cheered by Nathan and Theo. Two brothers and a sister – that's the way things had always been between the lieutenants and herself, all of them of the same age, if differing in almost every manner. There were stranger siblings, she supposed, but it was all she was ever destined to be: a sister. She was content to leave it as such with Nathan and Theo, as she had never aspired to their affections, but James …

Thankfully, her mind could not be occupied by James, for another unexpected development had just occurred, one of a most absurd and rather threatening sort. Laura felt the cold of adamant steel against her neck, a rough and filthy hand over her mouth and warm breath whispering in her ear.

"Come with us, luv, and we'll thank ye to be quiet!"


	7. Kidnapped!

**(Author's Notes – Thank you, thank you, thank you to my lovely reviewers, who deserve another tot of virtual rum! Don't get tipsy, though.**

**Here I am again – this chapter, I regret, is shorter than the others, but I felt it was better to cut it off there than continue. It's another semi-dramatic ending, but the next chapter should be up … very soon. **

**Chapter 7: In which Laura finds herself in a very sticky situation. Warning - some situations and dialogue are inspired by DMC.)**

Laura, being a proper lady in most senses of the word, knew nothing of self defense and, unlike Belle St. Croix who was perfectly perfect in every way, could not be expected to fight off an attacker while in such a weak position. Thus she had to comply with her kidnapper, coming slowly, careful of the threatening blade, to her feet, and being prodded towards the window, made her way there.

"Open it, luv."

Laura's trembling hands fumbled with the drapes and then the clasp, deathly afraid of who this man was and what he would do to her. After much delay she managed to open the window, to her kidnapper's delight. She felt the blade move from her neck, but it was only a moment's reprieve, for the hilt of the blade came crashing down on her skull, rendering her mercifully unconscious.

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It would have been too clichéd to say Laura woke up swinging in a hammock, tended to by a grim pirate. It would additionally mean than a plan actually worked straight through from soup to nuts for a certain captain, which had never and would never happen in his rather checkered life. Bearing this in mind, Laura came to, with a headache that could have matched that accompanying the worst hangover said kidnapping pirate captain had ever had, in a rickety dinghy, lying uncomfortably in the bottom and hidden from sight under a rotting blanket painted a rainbow from the various mildews and molds.

Being in such a state, of course, she could articulate nothing, and moaned indistinctly. For her pains she was silenced by a swift nudge in the ribs from someone's booted toe. Immediately following this, the boat shuddered and resonated as a very, very loud argument took place.

"No one touches the prisoner, savvy?"

"Captain, you was the one what knocked her out!"

Laura came, after regaining most of her right mind and memory of recent events (For Laura, unlike Belle St. Croix, did not lose her entire memory and sense of being whenever hit over the head and passed out for an hour or so), to the conclusion the person who now defended her was the man who had abducted her in the first place.

"I took necessary action against the lady."

"Or what, Jack? She would 'a crushed ye with her dress?"

"She would 'a screamed, and therefore action was necessary. For I can't get out if the young lady screams, which case we have no captive, seeing as if she screamed she would 'a got help and not been captured and I, in fact, would have been the one what was a captive. And what's the point of ransom if you don't have a captive what to bargain with, aye?"

"Oh, so it's paid release this time."

"I like to think of it as relieving someone of dreadful high society company. And their gold."

"Well, as long as it gets us somethin' what's heavy and shiny, I say aye!"

"Already do, mate. The lady sure wears a bit o' shine."

"How shiny?"

"Very shiny!"

"Come on, Jack, what'd the girl have?"

"Enough to make me considering jus' leavin' her, minus 'er jewels, of course."

"That _is_ shiny."

"Right you are, Mr. Gibbs!"

Surreptitiously, Laura reached for the clasp of her necklace, only to find not only her neck bare, but her left wrist and hand substantially lighter. Someone's boot nudged her again, this time harder.

"I told ye, Pintel, no one touches the prisoner!"

"Beggin' your pardon, Captain, but the wench is awake."

That was the first time in Laura's life that she had been called anything less than a model of propriety and virtue. Unfortunately for her, it wouldn't be the last, especially with her life having now been turned on its head.

The blanket whipped off her head, and she found herself face to face with a very, very oddly dressed and smelly man.

"So she is. 'Ey, Missy, what be your name?"

"Give me my possessions back, please, Captain-"

"Sparrow, luv," the man smirked, "And I don't think so. Perhaps after your room and board's been paid for."

"Please, Captain Sparrow! That ring means … a lot."

"What's your name, Missy?"

"Laura. Laura Bell."

"And whose ring is this, JN? Certainly not yours. Bit of a thief, are you?"

"Yes, it's not mine. No, I didn't steal it. It was a gift from someone."

"Someone named JN? Now who do we know by the initials of JN?"

"You don't know her. My mother – Judith North was her maiden name, and as I am her eldest, she passed the ring to me on my birth."

Laura hoped desperately that they could not see the lie in her eyes – part of it was true enough, her mother's name had been Judith North, before she became Judith Bell, but it _was_ a gift from quite a different JN …

"And who is your father?"

"Captain Laurence Bell, RN. He's disappeared into the South Pacific, neither seen nor heard from for six years. So, Captain Sparrow, I can safely say my father is dead."

"If you hope to gain some sympathy with a sob story, luv, you've come to the wrong shop."

Laura shook her head.

"It's not a sob story, as you put it, Captain. He died at sea; it's what he would have wanted. And if his death came sooner than later, well, that's just the way of the world. He was a good man, and a good father, and I am sorry that the end came when it came, but," she shrugged, "One gets used to life."

"Pragmatic view, Missy."

"I've had a good life. What have I to complain about?"

Actually, she did have quite a bit of late, the annoyance in question being a pretty, brainless chit by the name of Belle St. Croix.

"This," Sparrow smirked, gesturing around himself towards a decidedly bucaneer crew.

"It's not so bad," she said stoically, "I would have had to leave Port Royal anyway."

A mutter went up around the dinghy.

"Well, Miss Bell, it seems you are now my prisoner. You shall be released when your family or other interested party provides us with your ransom."

"And what are you asking?"

"Suitable payment. I won't accept a farthing under ten thousand pounds, but if you wish to pay more, by all means, luv."

"Ten thousand, Captain Sparrow?"

"Every last coin gold. We pirates like a bit of shine every now and again."

Laura did the calculations in her head. Her portion of the interest from her father's investments brought in five hundred a year, the plantations another five hundred. Not good. Laura knew she had to contribute to the upkeep of the Bell household, and that would take at least half of that, maybe a bit more. The Bells didn't take charity, and Laura was no exception. It was her burden to pay for her release – the Blush Pearl could be sold to make up differences, but even that would not cover her ransom. She had no other valuables – she dressed plainly and possessed no jewelry of value. There was only one other thing …

No, she couldn't have her mother give that.

It was the only way. She had to, or be stuck with pirates.

Laura realized the price of her freedom was her dowry.

**(Author's Notes – Hi, me again! Just clarifying a couple things: Yes, Pintel and Ragetti are rowing the dinghy. There is no justification for them being there, just they are – they somehow escaped the noose? I don't know, these guys are just funny, hopefully they'll have a bigger part later. I hope I didn't overdo it with the "shiny" bit, but I was having fun! Laura refers to the Blush Pearl; it's part of her inheritance – a large, pink-toned pearl. Lastly, just in case, a woman's dowry is the money, property, etc that goes with a woman when she marries – sort of an inducement to marry a woman since its easy money for the groom. Laura doesn't want to lose it because she thinks it's her last chance to marry respectably, else she faces serious repercussions for being with child out of wedlock ... )**


	8. Holding Her Own

**(Author's Notes – As promised, I'm back with a reasonably prompt update! Thank you, thank you, thank you to all of my lovely reviewers!**

**For those of you wondering why Laura didn't call up Brokenspar … remember the beginning of chapter 6. I quote Brokenspar – "Do you remember a fellow named Jack Sparrow?". Brokenspar might have had something to do with Laura's present predicament! Of course … I can't give away too much of the plot.**

**Well, now Laura's got herself in a bit of a tight spot, but proves a little savvy in the end, despite suffering from seasickness. Sorry, this is a little long, but it makes up for the other chapter being a little on the short! Enjoy!)**

From Captain Jack Sparrow's perspective, this captive was turning out to be a decidedly strange case. For starters, she complied easily, and was actually quite terrified. It had been a long while since a female captive had been compliant – nowadays, they all demanded to either be taken back to shore or, conversely, to join his crew and sail off into the sunset with him. Secondly, she had been calm on awaking, and had not made ridiculous demands or proclamations. Her only concern was for the ring, rather than for her immediate safety. Thirdly, she proved to be quiet and quite resigned, not only about her present situation, but also about her life in general. She was an easy case.

Judging by the home he picked her up in, ten thousand seemed a reasonable tag to ask for the missy, but she seemed a little nervous about paying it. Captain Sparrow had to admit, he was demanding quite a bit, but ten thousand and he wouldn't have to swindle anyone else until he tired of being lazy, which, admittedly, wouldn't be much longer than a month or so.

The missy's mind wandered as her eyes grew unfocused and she squinted as if calculating something, mouthing figures Captain Sparrow could not understand. She blinked and looked down shaking her head and apparently struggling with something. Finally, she stopped, as if struck, and looked up with the deadest look Captain Sparrow had ever seen in his entire career.

"I will pay, Captain Sparrow. I will write immediately to my family and tell them what is to be done."

"Not now, luv, we're getting to the _Pearl_ and then we're gone. Norry is not giving me another day's head start, no matter what cards I play. You can write said letter and post it in Tortuga, our next port of call."

Captain Sparrow was interrupted as the _Black Pearl_ hailed, drifting at anchor as the dinghy pulled up along side.

"The prisoner first," a gruff man with the largest sideburns Laura had ever seen ordered, shoving her toward the lowered rope ladder.

Laura stood up shakily in the dinghy, blood rushing from her head as she swayed to her feet. She was still in the simple blue cotton morning dress, dwarfed by the massive bulk of the Pearl, numb hands gripping the rough rope. She'd never, in her entire life, been on a ship before. Laura was born in Port Royal and had stayed in Port Royal; despite her Naval acquaintances and connections, she had never quite been caught by the siren call of the sea. Many days she had spent on the shores, more in the water, and perhaps the odd excursion in a dinghy such as this, but she had never, ever been aboard ship.

Quite a few things were going through Laura's mind at that moment, but the one thing she'd remember was the thought that she was going to die. Nervously taking the plank of the ladder in her hand, she picked herself up a step. Good, she told herself. She went up the next. Better. And the next. And the next. And the next. Good. She could do this. Next step. Next step. Next step. Good. Next step. Next step. Next –

Predictably, almost, Laura stepped on the edge of her dress, reeling backward from her precarious perch. By this point she was almost certain she was a dead woman.

Luckily, a hand, rough calloused and feminine shot out and hauled her aboard.

"Welcome aboard the _Black Pearl_, Missy," Laura's rescuer growled, fixing a flapping hat back on her head.

"Thank you, very much."

Laura's rescuer only shot her a dark look, as Captain Sparrow swaggered up on deck.

"Miss Bell, Ana Maria; Ana Maria, Miss Bell. Miss Bell will be joining us for a short while. 'Ey, Gibbs! Raise anchor and set sail for Tortuga!"

"Aye aye, Captain."

The important matter of calling orders being settled, Captain Sparrow turned back to the two radically different women.

"The brig, Captain?"

Laura's eye widened, frightened. She'd been around James long enough to know exactly what and where they were going to throw her.

"Give her a cabin, away from the crew."

Ana Maria rolled her eyes.

"Marty! Show this lady a cabin."

An idea came to Laura, something to keep her busy.

"The paper for my letter, Captain?"

Captain Sparrow sighed.

"Right away, as soon as you're settled. Marty, get her below."

Laura felt a tug at the skirt of her dress and involuntarily moved to pull it free of a splinter, until she noticed a dwarf was the one doing the tugging. To her, this ship, captained by the most bizarre and drunk man Laura had ever met (not that she had met too many), officered, from what she could see, by a man who resembled a badger and fierce island woman, and crewed by a ragtag bunch coming from all over the world, including said midget, a man with a wooden eye, and a mute with a talking parrot, was a veritable circus - filled with the weird, the bizzare, and the frightening.

Following her guide below, all Laura could think of, as the stench of the ship assailed her, the movement churned her stomach, and the sky disappeared, was that this was indeed bad. Her cabin was windowless, dark, and airless, consisting of a bunk up against the side of the ship, an empty chest, a swinging lamp, and a slop bowl. That, and a bolted door, was her company.

What does a girl do, in such a situation? Laura paused to re-evaluate the events of the past twenty four hours. This time yesterday, she realized, she was sitting in the window drawing, until James had burst in, the wreck of what he usually was, after which she had then had tea with him, tried to comfort him by distraction, which had helped, at least a little, and then had the most unexpected embrace, from which she had been rudely interrupted by that Miss St. Croix, gone off to visit the Authoress, who lived in a different time and universe, gone back to her normal life, which turned on its head when an accidental kiss turned into an accidental and illicit union, leading to a proclamation of love and a proposal, which was broken when he fell, after which Belle St. Croix reappeared, taking James away with her, causing Laura to invoke the Authoress again, who told her she was with child, upsetting her greatly so much that she nearly interrupted her mother and the Former-Governor, who did not even notice Nathan and Theo, ever trying to cheer her up but whose absence left he open to being kidnapped for ransom by Captain Jack Sparrow and throw in a little hole in the wall.

The events were dizzying, to be sure, and fairly upsetting. Here she was, Laura Bell, spinster, at the age of twenty-four unmarried, pregnant by a man she had been in unrequited love with for twenty years, held for ransom which, when paid, would cost her her only chance at marriage and safety from humiliation. The situation being such, she did the one thing she could productively do, given the particulars of the situation: curl up on the bed and try to fall asleep.

What she didn't count on, however, was being seasick.

Laura had been very miserable during certain episodes of her life, but after the third or fourth hour of unrelenting nausea, she decided it was, without question, the most miserable she had ever been. Oddly enough, she could not stop thinking of James, of what he was doing at the moment. Was he indeed walking the cliffs with Miss St. Croix? Did anyone notice she was missing? What she wouldn't have given to be safe in his embrace right now!

Having wretched again into the vile slop-pail, she regarded the paper and pencil granted to her by the pirates. She was doing it again, she realized as she squinted at the uniformed form slowly taking shape. She was drawing James again. And the sad thing was, she didn't care, in the way she ought to have cared very much about her dreadful situation. She ought to have cared James wasn't hers and certainly not hers to sketch, but then, he never had been and that had never stopped her. And it wasn't like James would have been concerned with her sketching him when she was held captive by pirates. Even though she loved him and had his word he would marry her, she saw the way he looked at Belle St. Croix and knew, though she didn't want to believe it … well, until Brokenspar came through with something, she had to.

"Jack wants a word wi' ye in his cabin before supper."

It was the gruff, bewhiskered man who had been in the dinghy previously, but was acting considerably more polite.

"I am at his command," Laura managed to stutter, clutching the pencil and paper to her chest.

Her stomach rose and fell with the pitch of the ship, leading her to rush for the slop pail again. It was a comfort to see the man had enough decency to turn around, even though Laura was too sick to fully appreciate the gesture.

"This way," the man said, looking a cross between disdainful and ashamed, supporting her as she staggered as best as she could, which, truth be told, was not very well at all.

When she finally came to the great cabin, after a brief trip above decks, she felt near to exhausted – legs leaden, head light, palms clammy, and abdomen twisted into a knot behind her stiff whalebone stays. The paper was almost forgotten, crumpled to her bodice.

"Thank you for your assistance, Mr. -"

"Gibbs," he replied, giving her a brief smile that she wasn't sure had ever been there, "Jack! The girl's here ta see ye like ye wanted!"

"Bring the lass in, then!"

Mr. Gibbs swung the door wide open and let Laura tumble in with the motion of the ship, eventually falling against the back of an ornate chair. As Laura recovered, Captain Sparrow looked up from his charts and gestured for her to sit, which she did with difficulty.

"Come with the letter, have you?"

With a growing sense of horror, Laura realized she had brought her sketch with her, and before she could do anything about it, Captain Sparrow had taken the sketch from her hand.

As she watched, fearful of the result, Captain Sparrow paled a bit, blinked, and re-examined the sketch.

"Did you draw this, Miss Bell?"

"I did."

"You are acquainted with the Commodore?"

What could she say? Well, it would be folly to deny it, but even she was not sure what her exact relationship with James. Friend? Confidante? Sister? Lover? Wench? Her head hurt, quite a bit.

"I am," she whispered, reaching for the paper.

Captain Sparrow immediately held it out of her reach.

"To what extent?"

Ah, she saw where this was going.

"He was as good as my brother, once, but we've … gone our separate ways. I doubt he'll even notice I'm gone, so have no worries on that account."

He relaxed a bit, but still held the paper out of reach of her hands.

"Anyone else I should worry about?"

"No … Nathan and Theo … er, Lieutenants Gillette and Groves are busy with a woman of their own, my sisters are all with their families, and my mother … has a beau of her own. They probably haven't noticed I'm missing yet."

"Ye know, Missy, ye aren't very savvy. Ye could at least bluff yer way into me treating ye better."

Laura really didn't have the capacity for this right now.

"That would be lying, Captain," she choked blearily.

"Oh, God help us, we've got an honest one on our hands," Captain Sparrow laughed, uncorking a bottle, "Rum?"

She shook her head, any hint of food or drink recalling her nausea.

"Suit yourself."

He took a gigantic swig of the bottle.

"As it happens, Missy, that is a very fine sketch of the Commodore."

"Thank you, Captain."

"Humor me."

"What?"

"How good of an artist are ye?"

"I … I …"

"No modesty, Missy."

"I'm thought one of the best in Port Royal, Captain Sparrow."

"It seems, then, we are in an interesting situation. I want me portrait done, luv, but not many decent artists are willin' to do a study of ol' Captain Jack – funny world, innit? Ye say yer good with a pencil. Humor me, and I might be willin' to help ye out a bit. Savvy?"

Captain Jack flashed her a winning smile filled with gold-plated teeth.

"I want my jewelry back, Captain Sparrow. In exchanged for the portrait, you give me my jewelry back."

"No."

"My jewelry and James Norrington's sketch."

"No!"

"Please, Captain Sparrow."

"You're going to have to do a bit more than simply sketch me, luv."

"Fine," she coughed, "A finished portrait, in exchange for my jewelry and my sketch of James Norrington."

He shook his head.

"Still not good enough, luv."

"What else?"

Laura was suddenly very, very afraid of what Captain Sparrow would demand of her, though, for all intents and purposes, her virtue was very much ruined. Having to serve as a common wench for the Captain would just be rubbing salt in the wound.

"Hmmmm. Can ye sew?"

"Yes, why?"

"The _Pearl _finds herself in need of a flag. Sew us a skull and crossbones, luv, paint me portrait, and I give ye yer jewels back, given, o' course, ye pay up the ransom. Do we have an accord?"

"Agreed, Captain Sparrow," she muttered, feeling the mutiny in her stomach, "If you'll excuse me a moment, I truly don't feel very well and …"

Captain Sparrow hurriedly handed Laura an empty keg, and turned as she retched into it.

"And another thing. What is it about yer jewelry?"

Laura smiled faintly.

"You know about the ring. The golden clasp bracelet was the last gift my father gave me before he disappeared."

"And the necklace? Not every lass walks around wearing a diamond cross on a solid gold chain."

"You're going to have to give me something back first."

Captain Sparrow's expression soured a bit, but then he smirked.

"The lass is savvy," he proclaimed, taking another swig of rum, "Here's ta ye future health, Miss Bell!"

Laura smiled a bit, but knew she was no long before another bout of upheaval. It helped her opinion of Captain Sparrow that he looked not a little worried when he saw her looking ill again.

"You've got to get back to ye cabin, Missy. I'll send Gibbs round with some laudanum, see if that helps ye get some rest."

She nodded gratefully, before heaving her stomach into the keg.

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Far away, and a while later, James Norrington awoke with a start, having just barely fallen asleep.

"Begging your pardon, sir, but there's someone to see you."

Melbourne, his manservant, stood respectfully in the doorway, holding a soft candle.

"Send them away," he growled groggily, wanting only to fall back into a sweet dream than, sadly for Laura, had nothing to do with her and everything to do with Belle St. Croix.

"It's urgent, sir. Mrs. Bell, Mr. Swann, and Lieutenants Gillette and Groves all here to see you."

"What?"

"They're in the sitting room, sir," Melbourne went on as James pushed himself out of bed and threw on a dressing gown, his duty and office already setting in.

"Do you know what they want?"

By this time he was down the hall and at the top of the stairs, with Melbourne on his heels.

"They wouldn't say, sir."

It took the pair less than half a minute to reach the assembly in the east sitting room.

Mrs. Bell was clearly panicked, wringing her hands and showing evidence of crying, hovering on the verge of hysterics, and turning to the new Mr. Swann for comfort. The former Governor was also clearly worried, though not as much as Mrs. Bell, but very concerned for her. Lieutenants Gillette and Groves wore blank faces, containing only the ghosts of worry, but clear evidence of anger.

"What's the meaning of this?"

The four looked around amongst themselves, wondering who should be the spokesman.

Gillette stepped forward, incurring a glare from his commander.

"I don't know how to best say this, Sir. The pirates have struck again."

"What are you waiting for? Ring the warning bell, call up the garrison, round up the civilians and -"

"No, no," Gillette shook his head, "It is not a full scale attack. One incident."

"Out with it, Gillette!"

James was getting very annoyed that his own men would not be frank with him where there was clearly an emergency on their hands.

"Jack Sparrow, sir."

"What about him?"

"There's been a ransom note from him."

"Who's missing?"

James feared he already knew the answer.

"Laura."

It wasn't often Commodore James Norrington regretted a decision, but this was one of the rare occasions.

At least it wasn't his Belle that was missing.


	9. The First Sketch

**(Author's Notes – Thank you, thank you, thank you to my lovely reviewers! For a change of pace, I baked virtual scones and brewed virtual tea! (need to counteract excessive amounts of piracy resulting from presence of rum and Jack Sparrow) **

**I love that I've got all of you hating Belle … just don't hate James as well! The poor man's gotten dumped by Elizabeth, lost control and taken his closest friend's innocence, fallen on his head, and been presented with a pretty woman. And yes, he deserves to be hit for that last remark. Not too hard. Remember – this is a happy ending fic!**

**Please tell me, what do you think of Laura? Too weak? Too unbelievable? Too nice? For those Austen fans out there, she supposed to be sort of like Jane Bennet and Fanny Price. Does it work?**

**I really hope everyone remains in character – Jack Sparrow, Ana Maria and Gibbs for now … maybe Elizabeth and Will later. (Norrington being wildly OOC for the purposes of the story) Tell me if you think I'm writing someone wrong!**

**And for those of you wondering – James begins to come around very soon – I promise. Author's word of honor. And Belle? Too bad she's not really perfect. –Major Plottage – Oh, things are going to change in the Caribbean. Prepare for the invasion.**

**Wow, this was a long note! Eep! On to the story! Chapter Nine: In which Laura continues to bargain while recovering from seasickness)**

Laura was still dreadfully seasick the next day, but the laudanum Captain Sparrow had sent to her did help her rest, and consequently, she did feel improved. When her morning meal came – ship's biscuit, something that looked like a mango, and grog – she managed to eat at least a little bit, which gave her more strength, even if she vomited most of it up. Speaking of which, the slop pail was full, sloshing … waste … all over the cabin and spreading a vile odor which more than once caused Laura to gag.

The situation became so desperate that she began to pound on the door, shouting for someone to let her out.

To her immense relief, the badger-like man – Mr. Gibbs, wasn't it? – had heard the racket and decided it was in everyone's best interest to see what the prisoner was up to, not that he though a little Missy like Miss Laura could cause much trouble.

The girl was quite a mess, her dress having been stained by the products of seasickness, dirtied by the cabin, hair held back by a strip she must have torn from the hem in the night.

"Please, Mr. Gibbs, the bucket's full and …"

Gibbs glanced behind her at the mess in her cabin, and immediately understood.

"The Captain be wantin' another word with ye, anyway."

Laura smiled briefly.

"Thank you, sir."

She followed him through the ship again, still having no idea where she was headed. About halfway there, he interrupted the silence.

"Yer ta sketch the Captain?"

"As he requested, yes," Laura responded, "I do this for him, and a few other minor chores about the ship, he gives me my jewelry back."

"Savvy, very savvy, Miss Laura," he chuckled, taking a swig from a pocket flask. Laura's best guess was that he, too, was drinking rum – a liquid second only to seawater in prevalence aboard this ship, "How'd Ol' Jack convince ye to draw him?"

"He saw something I was sketching, decided I was good with a pencil, and made the offer."

"Sounds like Jack, all right. Vain as a peacock, eye for the bargain."

And idea began to form in Laura's head. A very dangerous, possibly ludicrous plan that even she thought was farfetched and improbable.

"Would Captain Sparrow be open to another bargain?"

Gibbs spluttered into his flask, getting brown rum on his whiskers, not that he seemed to mind too much. He certainly had not expected Miss Laura to go into _that_ sort of bargaining.

"Ye'd have to ask him yerself, Miss, but he's rather … involved … with his second mate, Ana Maria."

Laura had absolutely no idea what the man was going on about, until the horrible meaning came to her.

"No! No, no, nothing of that sort," Laura shuddered, but it was lost in her stagger as the ship rolled, "Another sort entirely."

A look of relief came over Gibbs. He did not want to deal with an angry Ana Maria, which most certainly would have happened if Miss Laura had started flirting with Jack. Last time some one had done so … well, they were gone the next day, missing along with a chain shot, and Ana had looked more than pleased during breakfast.

"Whatever the case, ye'll have to bring it up with Jack."

"I will be sure to."

Once out in the sun again, Laura's nausea seemed to lessen. The sheer feel of the sea – the stiff breeze, the cold spray, the harsh sun, and the endless blue – seemed to give her a bit of a cure, at least temporarily. It must have been the novelty of the situation, she told herself. But she did wonder why she had never gone to sea before.

With great reluctance she followed Mr. Gibbs into the Captain's cabin, loosing sight of the sun, for only the strongest rays drifted through the salt-encrusted windows. The situation was not made any better when she promptly lost what was left her breakfast Captain Sparrow had immediately thrown into her hands.

When she was through, he smiled rather cheerfully her way.

"Feelin' any better today, luv?"

"Enclosed spaces do me no good," she replied pointedly.

Captain Sparrow shrugged.

"Pity yer a prisoner then. Mr. Gibbs, report."

"The lass's cabin is a bit of a mess, Jack. Perhaps instead o' floggin' Ferrier, ye' could make 'im do the cleanin'."

Captain Sparrow leaned back in his chair, putting his booted feet up on the deck, which splattered dirt onto a good portion of Spanish Florida.

"An excellent idea, mate. Give him a bucket and scrub straight off. Tell him 'e doesn't eat or sleep until the cabin is spotless – includin' the sheets. Wait, no, Cook can clean that."

"Uh, Captain, Cook's up an' left. 'E said 'e wouldn't stay a moment longer, not with the monkey an' all."

"Bugger. Speakin' o' the monkey, where's the little pestilence? I feel the pressin' need to shoot somethin'."

Mr. Gibbs shook his head, and backed out of the cabin as Captain Sparrow primed his pistol. Needless to say, Laura was a little intimidated.

"Well, Missy – Laura, innit? – Are ye well enough to begin?"

Laura nodded shakily, beginning to think about what she ought to draw him as.

"Well, then, Laura, what do I do?"

A little reassured by his ignorance, she smiled.

"You tell me, Captain Sparrow. How do you want to be remembered?"

A whole litany of possibilities opened before him – himself at the helm, himself brandishing pistol and cutlass, himself charting a course, himself escaping the Navy. How did he want to be remembered?

"Just be sure to show off my best points, luv. And don't forget me hat."

He flashed that gold-toothed smile again, pointing to a beaten leather object, hanging from the corner of his desk, which Laura supposed must have been a hat, once. No sooner had she looked back at him then he had pulled the cork from a rum bottle, holding it toward her.

"Rum?"

"No, thank you, Captain Sparrow."

"More for me," he shrugged, taking a gulp, "But keep in mind, Missy, the only drink what's on the _Pearl _is rum, grog or the bilgewater. And I do not recommend the last two. Vile, they are."

"I'm not thirsty, Captain Sparrow. I appreciate your concern on my behalf, however."

"No hostage, no ransom. Now, ye'd best be goin' about this portrait."

He took his feet down from the desk, rummaging about in what seemed to be never-ending drawers, until he lifted a sheaf of thick cream paper, a set of pencils and charcoals, a few brushes and finally, a rainbow of paints. Laura's eyebrows rose.

"Took these off a Brit merchantman out of Savannah. Kept them 'ere, just in case. Take 'em, wi' my blessins, so long as ye manage a good picture."

Captain Sparrow dumped the entire set in her arms, watching some of the paint leak out on her soiled dress.

Gathering the set together, she seated herself by the window settee, never too far from the pail. Captain Sparrow turned back to his maps, eventually seeming to forget her presence, humming little snippets of songs and ditties.

Pencil to hand, Laura stared hard at him, squinting and wanting a bit for her spectacles. As she did before every sketch she did, she named the subject.

_Study for Captain Jack Sparrow, Brigand and Pirate, Number One._

It wasn't such a bad start.

To begin, she made thin lines, barely there, outlining the silhouette of his figure, as she saw him from the side, bent over the desk, one hand on a pair of calipers, the other holding the hair back from his forehead. The trinkets in what she supposed had to be his hair caught the light, winking and shining like the man's teeth … the gold ones, at least. What was that pattern on his bandana? It looked like a map … but it could have been a paisley. Artist's license, she shrugged, deciding on a made-up map. Now if she could just get his expression right … the kohl around his eyes made him look ridiculous, even on paper … he looked best smiling, she decided on that expression, at least in this study. Now, about the matter of light and shading …

Laura had no idea of time while thus engaged, being that sketching was the one thing in life she truly enjoyed. In fact, she was so lost in her own thoughts, that it took Captain Sparrow some time to catch his attention.

"Oy! Missy! 'Ow's it comin'?"

She shook the excess lead off the paper, examining the sketch with a look of undeniable pride and a little bit of shock as she realized this study was not so different than several she had done of James.

Before she could make an adequate reply, Captain Sparrow promptly snatched it, parading around his cabin and admiring quite vocally how similar to his person it was. For all his grand aspirations, he reminded Laura of nothing more than a child receiving a present at Christmastime, overjoyed with the least bit, determined to show off his prize to the world.

"Not bad, not bad at all," he smirked.

Well, since she had his attention, it was truly now or never. Laura looked down at her hands, dark from the lead. If she went through with this madcap adventure, they (her hands) would be much, much dirtier.

"Captain Sparrow," she started shakily, taking the study back from his dirty hands, "I had heard that you were missing your cook."

His dark eyes sharpened, puerile glee disappearing as if he knew what she intended.

"What about it?"

"I will, in addition to other duties named to me, take on the position of Cook to the ship."

"What do ye want in return?"

"More freedom, if you please. And you to reduce my ransom."

"You'll have the run of the ship, luv, if ye can cook up something beside slop," he said earnestly, looking positively green as he recalled his last meal, "As for ransom, ye'll have to do a bit more work which will be decided later. Agreed?"

He held out a grimy hand for Laura to shake.

"Agreed."


	10. After Miss Bell!

**(Author's Note's – Well, this was a long time until an update. Sorry y'all, I rewrote this about three times, mostly the beginning. Thank you, thank you, thank you to my lovely reviewers!**

**I feel somewhat safe saying that I originally intended the rest of the story to take place in Port Royal, but an idea hit me today which I think much improves opportunity within the story. I won't say where, but let me assure you this tale is about swing a bit toward the strange, the bizarre, and the downright crazy.**

**Still enraged about Belle? Well, she's about to meet her just rewards, starting in this chapter, and even more in the next! This is a bit short, but I wanted to update, since I won't be around until Monday or so. So, without further ado, Chapter 10: In which James realizes something, Laura drinks rum, and a Marty-Stu appears along with a Mary-Sue cliché!) **

James Norrington was sitting in his cabin, rooted to his chair and moved almost to tears by a simple pencil sketch.

_Laura Bell, on the Eve of her Spinsterhood, June 20th 1720_

The night before his promotion ceremony – he remembered the wreck of nerves he had been, coming to her door and falling at her feet, begging for help, counsel and comfort. He confided he planned to propose to Elizabeth the next day, careless of what she might have felt for him.

God, if he had only looked a little closer, maybe he would have seen the sadness in her eyes that day, because it was very clear in this picture.

She must have drawn it after he left, he concluded. She had paid extraordinary to every flaw in her face, every stray hair, everything that made her plain and imperfect. He could see the circles under her grey eyes, the indents on the bridge of her nose where her spectacles normally rested, and a trail where the tears had dripped down her face.

He knew now she loved him, James Norrington, and always had. Before they left from Port Royal, he had taken the liberty of taking her sketches.

What does a man do in such a situation? James was as one petrified, rooted to his chair in the terrible realization. All his life he had fallen on Laura when his heart was broken, speaking bitterly of being ignored where his devotion ought to have earned him more. And she had sat through it all, for God knows how long, uncomplaining in her devotion. She was quiet and unspectacular, and because of this he had ignored her. He had wronged her, so terribly.

Who had been her comfort when everything went to nothing? She never came to him, or Nathan or Theo. How had she bourn it in silence? How could she go on, when every day brought new proof of the impossibility of her love?

He had wronged her, again and again. He had tormented her, he had kissed her and left, he had paraded with Belle before her. And in her hour of need he had abandoned her. Were things too far gone to make them right?

James Norrington stood, stepping out onto the small promenade at the back of his cabin, divested of uniform coat, hat and wig, letting the wind blow him through and wondering just where on the wide, starlit sea Laura was.

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Far and away, Laura leaned over the taffrail aboard the _Black Pearl_, hit by a wave of nausea.

"Ye all right, luv?"

"A little dizzy, Captain Sparrow."

"Well, don't fall overboard."

"I will be very sure not to, sir."

Captain Sparrow leaned on the rail, next to her, and offered a half-drained bottle of rum.

"Fine," she grumbled, taking the dirty glass with a ginger touch, wiping the mouth with a grungy kerchief which had been quite clean on her arrival two days ago.

Captain Sparrow took note of the monogrammed JN on the kerchief, connecting the dots between the kerchief, the ring, the Commodore and his captive, Miss Laura Bell.

Perhaps there was more to the woman beside him than met the eye. With a slightly wandering eye, he surveyed her again as she contemplated the amber liquid, teetering between the improper and the necessary.

Miss Laura Bell, so far as he could tell, was a woman of her mid-twenties, who epitomized the word plain. If he were drunk enough, he might have the grace to call her decent, but the resulting hangover would most definitely label her ugly. Everything about her was unremarkable, so much so that her unremarkability actually became remarkable. Her dress had been neat, but like her kerchief was now grimy, and thanks to a tangle with the stove in the galley, had been torn, discolored and burned almost beyond recognition – the right sleeve burned clean off, replaced by the cleanest bandage on the _Pearl_ from elbow to shoulder. She had disposed of the shreds remaining of her lace mitts, wrapping her hands with strips torn off the tattered hem of her gown. Parts of the bodice which had been destroyed she repaired with sailcloth, but despaired of the skirt, and thus let it hang like a rotting curtain over her single intact petticoat. Blue strips similarly kept the hair out of her eyes, and in tolerable order, at least for her. Laura Bell didn't seem too happy with the arrangement of her dress, but when he'd tried to play the gentleman, and offer, she had given him one of the coldest glares he'd ever been favored with accompanied by the politest refusal.

She was alternatively stupid and savvy, honest with a smart streak. If she'd been able to conceal her motives he'd almost have no idea what to do with her, he'd pinned her down to her desires and that was that.

As if finally deciding, Laura raised the bottle to her lips, eyes shut and wincing at its sharp taste. With a gasp, she dropped it, empty, clutching her stomach.

"Strong stuff, Captain Sparrow."

"Better than anythin', luv."

Another wave of nausea swept over her, and she again lost her entire stomach.

"Not for the faint'earted, Laura."

From the tone in his voice, Laura could have sworn he was laughing at her.

What she said in response was not real English, but what she meant was something along the lines of, "It is certainly not for me."

"Ye'll start ta like it when ye see the water in a week or so."

"I think not."

"Ye got a stick up yer arse, if ye don't min' me sayin' so, luv. Much like yer Commodore."

A moment later Laura joined the legions of women who had slapped Jack Sparrow across the face.

Laura was a little tipsy, else she swore to herself that would never have happened, though he had deserved it. She needed some time to herself on this ship, but she might have well sought peace in her ballroom during the summer season. There was someone in every corner of the decks, someone with a leer or a chore for her to do, She could either aspire to Heaven or Hell – to the highest of the rigging, or the bowels of the bilges, and she could not face the sunless prison below. Her only option was the heights, which she knew herself to be terrified of.

Gathering her skirts and her courage, she worked her way to the foremast shrouds and began her ascent, willing herself to keep calm even when she lost her grip for a frightening instant. Over a drawn out half hour, she made her way to the highest point where she could keep her balance comfortably. Facing the east horizon ahead, Laura watched the sun fade over the far horizon, keeping her eye out for James.

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The _Black Horizon_ made her smooth way through the dark waters on which the sun had already set, almost invisible in the darkness save to the trained eye. Her crew went about their evening chores in grim efficiency, and her Captain, Alexander St. John, renowned for his daring exploits, fearsome intelligence, fencing skills and charming tenor paced the quarterdeck, anxious.

He needed to find Laura Bell, for she held the Cross of St. John, a legendary artifact that belonged in the hands of his family. With the Cross, he could finally break the curse. Many long years he had been searching, but now his torment seemed finally to be near an end. Soon, he would finally be free.


	11. A Change in the Wind

**(Author's Notes – Gosh, I really can't thank my reviewers enough – so thank you, thank you, thank you!**

**I'm glad you all liked the appearance of Captain Alexander St. John, and it is with regret that I inform you he makes no appearance in this chapter, there is something which, I am confident, will make up for it.**

**Apart from that, this chapter is mostly more exposition and a significant piece of backstory, charting the course of the _Black Pearl_ and her pursuers – the _Dauntless_ and the _Black Horizon_ – into a whole new level … essentially, the parody level will be going up shortly. So, without further ado, I present Chapter 11: In which we Laura gains and loses several things)**

"Laura, luv, I need a favor."

Laura looked up from her present chore – boiling down the salt junk into something not rock solid. She had been in half a mind to tell Captain Sparrow to use the substance for ammunition, until she realized just who the shot would be used against.

"How large a favor and of what nature?"

"Nothin' too far out o' the ordinary."

Last time he had said that, Laura had found herself hauling lines in the middle of a three-reef gale, so naturally she was a little skeptical.

"What is it, Captain Sparrow?"

She carved a hunk of what she assumed once was pork and tested it, only to realize it was still disgustingly salty.

"Well, Ana an' I 'ave been quarellin'."

Laura looked up again. Captain Sparrow was leaning in the doorway to the galley, looking rather shamefacedly down at his dirty boots.

"And?"

"It's somethin' that's not my fault, really. 'Onestly. I, ah, bugger it, ye don' need to know the particulars. I wanted ta make it up to 'er, a little, ye know, seein' as it's not my fault an' all."

"You need my help with that, Captain Sparrow?"

"Well, I was sorta 'opin' you'd help me out, a bit."

"How so?"

"Can ye cook?"

"Captain Sparrow, I've thus far been cook on your ship for two weeks without complaints."

"I know that, luv, and ye've made a wonderful cook. But I wanted ta make somethin' a little special for 'er."

"Captain Sparrow, I am a gentlewoman, and I should tell you I have never had much opportunity to do much real cooking in my entire life!"

Laura tossed the wooden spoon into the stewing junk, crossing the small galley to the sack of biscuits.

"Didn't mean ta offend ye, Laura, but please, 'elp me out 'ere!"

As much as she was frustrated with the man, for assuming she knew just how to whip up a good meal in the blink of an eye, and for giving her the oddest tasks imaginable – from sewing a Jolly Roger, to hauling lines, to acting as a lookout and a decoy, to shearing the ship's sheep – she could not find it in herself to deny a man in need, even it was Captain Sparrow.

She sighed heavily, knowing what she was about to get herself into.

"You have my aid, Captain Sparrow. When do you need it to be ready by?"

"The beginnin' o' the night watch … Eight?"

"Right. And anything particular?"

"Nothin', though she's a mite fond o' crab. Ye have the run o' the stores – use whatever ye need. I owe ye, luv."

"You've given me back my bracelet, Captain Sparrow. I want either the ring or the cross back after tonight."

"Ye still need ta tell me about that cross!"

"Sometime, Captain Sparrow. Not now."

Jack Sparrow found himself summarily dismissed as Laura began to rummage through the supplies.

_Well_, she thought to herself, _This is a pretty fix indeed. I haven't the foggiest idea of a good dinner, it's a wonder, really, I've made it this far with the little cooking I know. What can I do with this? I've got a barrel of assorted live sea-life, more salt junk of dubious origin than could feed the entire ship for a month, some fresh fruits, about a two ton of hardtack, a bag of flour, spices, a firkin of butter, the last chicken, a few eggs, rum, beer, wine, other drinks hard liquor and not, and whatever else I find. Entrée? Ah … soup? No salad. Oh dear. _

Laura tied the makeshift apron around her waist, and set to work improvising with a will.

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Onboard the _Dauntless_, things were not going according to plan before dinner, either.

James had found himself accosted by Miss St. Croix, who he began to regret bringing along. She would not leave him be, particularly when he was quite in mind to sulk a bit concerning Laura. When he quite forcefully brushed her off, she stormed away.

_Good riddance_, he'd thought at the time, but his peace was momentary. He'd stepped into his cabin after a very trying watch, only to find Miss St. Croix in a roaring temper.

"Why haven't you said you loved me, James?"

There was only one answer in James's mind, and he saw no point in beating about the bush.

"Because, Miss St. Croix, I do not."

He imagined she would have left after that, but no, he was not so fortunate.

"But James," she whined in a way that was not at all appealing, "You do love me! I am the most beautiful, most talented woman in all of Christendom! My blood is blue! I have hundreds of suitors in London, and no less here; I am the most desirable bride you may well find, and I love you!"

James should have had qualms about being so harsh on this woman, but since he blamed her for Laura's predicament, however unjust that might have truly been, he had none.

"Miss St. Croix, I do not love you. I have known you this half-month, and that would hardly be enough to inspire love even in those destined for true affection. Furthermore, you may well be the loveliest and most accomplished woman in Christendom in many men's eyes, but not my own."

"How can you not love me? How can you value another over me?"

"Because you are not Laura Bell, Madam, and that is more than enough excuse."

He thought he might have driven her off with that, but it was a moment's peace before the storm broke.

"Laura Bell," she cried, "Laura Bell?"

Miss St. Croix drew herself to her full height, eyes flashing in fury.

"How could you take that lower-class rat instead of me? How could you turn down the blossom of the oldest line in England for the fading daughter of a Captain of obscurity? How could you turn away from my beauty for her plainness, my talents for her mediocrity, my vivacity for her dull nature? You love me, James Norrington, for this is some joke! You cannot choose that slime over me!"

James Norrington considered himself a man of even temperament, and knew himself to be a man of tremendous self-will. All the same, there was nothing that could have succeeded in angering him more than to hear his Laura abused so.

"Look at her, James! Look at me!"

He stood still, feeling a vein throbbing in his temple, as she began to circle him seductively.

"You'd rather kiss her than me, James? Her thin, pale lips over my thick, red mouth? When you come home at night, to be comforted on her small bosom over my buxom décolletage? To run your hands through her frizzy molasses hair over my auburn tresses? To cry her name instead of mine in the dead of night?"

Miss St. Croix ran her hand over his chest, looking up at a stony James with her most potent of charming smiles.

"Don't you want me, James? Don't you want to know you own me, body and soul? Don't you want to use me? Just three words, and I am yours forever."

Without a word, Commodore James Norrington picked Belle St. Croix up, crossed the cabin in four sure steps, and threw her overboard.

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Back aboard the _Black Pearl_, Laura surveyed the finished dishes with pride. The island crab stew was sufficiently spicy for anyone's taste, the rolls came out light, if a little discolored, the butter sauce for the lobster had not clotted and the thing itself had stayed a healthy shade of red, the stock pork was in it's last stages of being boiled to ragout standards, she had found fresh fruits enough for a pleasant presentation, and the apple cobbler (her confessed speciality) smelled wonderful. Balancing carefully, she cleaned herself up a bit – meaning a clean sailcloth apron – and placed the soup on a tray to carry aft. Captain Sparrow was in her debt to a very, very great extent.

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After she cleared up the last course, the apple cobbler, Captain Sparrow pulled her aside.

"Laura, luv, I owe ye one."

"The ring or the cross, Captain Sparrow," she demanded, sweeping the soiled dishes onto the serving platter.

"I'll give ye back both, if ye tell me what about the cross."

Captain Sparrow smirked, arms across his chest, dangling the ring and the cross on the same chain. Laura, lacking the self control she normally possessed, she made a snatch for them which failed miserably. Straightening herself out, she held out her hand.

"Agreed, Captain Sparrow."

"Wonderful."

He dropped the chain into her outstretch palm, watching her with curiosity as she reinstalled them about her person.

"The cross, luv."

Laura looked around for a convenient chair and decided on the one behind the desk, the Captain's chair. Thus removed from his seat, Captain Sparrow sat on the window ledge.

"If you must know, Captain Sparrow," she started with a sigh, "This cross is technically not my own. It originally belonged to the dear friend of my youth, Charity Norrington."

"Any relation to our Commodore?"

"His youngest sister."

_How could she be confessing this to a stranger and a pirate? To a member of the clan who killed her, killed poor Charity at the age of five! God, poor Charity, poor Ophelia, poor James … _

"Didn't know 'e had a sister."

"He doesn't, at least not anymore."

"Dead?"

"Murdered. His entire family, save him, perished when pirates attacked the convoy they had joined, bound for England."

Captain Sparrow found he could not meet her eyes; they were hardened and blurry at the same time.

"The cross was taken from her body by those pirates. James recovered the cross by a miracle years later, and handed it to me. It has been in my possession ever since. I do not like to be parted from it, Captain Sparrow. It's the last thing I have of my childhood, save James. And now I've lost him, too."

"Ye and the Commodore are more than friends?"

A small, sarcastic smile tugged at the corners of her mouth, producing a self-deprecating grin.

"No, Captain Sparrow, we are not."

Her left hand twitched a little, involuntarily, drawing unneeded attention to the signet ring.

An idea came to Captain Sparrow, one which was decidedly underhanded but what did he care so long as it wasn't the noose around his neck?

"Laura, luv, what do ye make o' this compass?"

Gingerly, avoiding her tired and puzzled expression, he placed the compass in her hand, watching the needle whir about for less than a blink of an eye, fixing on an unwavering point in their wake.

"It's broken, Captain Sparrow."

In that instant, the glint in his eyes made Laura feel as though she'd given away far too much.

"Just special, luv."

He crossed the room in a few quick strides, shouting out the door to Mr. Gibbs at the helm.

"Gibbs! Change o' course. I feel the need to visit Nassau!"

"The Bahamas, Captain Sparrow?"

"Aye, the Bahamas, luv," Captain Sparrow smirked, and it was in that instant that Laura feared she should never see James again


	12. Old Acquaintances

**(Author's Notes – Sorry, such a long time for an update, but before I go any further … THANK YOU to my LOVELY reviewers! 9 reviews for one chapter? You all make me wonderfully happy! A tot of virtual rum on me … 'cause this chapter gets a little piratey.**

**Anyways … I am very glad you liked Belle St. Croix's little swim. You have no idea how happy I was to write that! I was considering having a rather drunken Nathan and Theo try and shoot her for target practice, but I figured that would have been a bit much. So it's the depths for St. Croix! Oh, and to clarify – Jack had figured out that if Laura held the compass, it would point to James. Jack wanted to know where James was so Jack could get away – not a terribly kind use of Laura.**

**There are some strange beasts in this chapter – pastiches and parodies of conventions. It jumps around quite a bit, but I tried to make it longer and more sensible. Let me know what you think – Without further ado, Brokenspar presents Chapter 12: In which new characters arrive, and old ones sulk, gasp, and do otherwise dramatic things)**

Captain Toby Ixbridge, ex-RN, pending privateer, occasional pirate, full-time smuggler and pain-in-the-government's-arse, sat at a corner table of the Faithful Bride tavern in Tortuga, utterly miserable.

"What's your poison, dearie?"

He shot the buxom barmaid a killing glare.

"A pint of gin."

"Fresh out. Will ya be wantin' anythin' else?"

"A pint o' rum," chipped in his first mate.

The barmaid made a mockery of a curtsey.

"Be right wi' ya."

Toby slammed his fist down on the rickety table, jarring the candles on the broken plate.

"Is there nothing but **_rum_** on these blasted islands!"

Peg-Leg Peggy, his first mate, shrugged philosophically as she took the dirty bottle from the barmaid.

"Welcome to the Caribbean, Toby."

She winked her remaining eye (the other, the blind, hid behind a black felt patch) as she drained half the bottle in a series of less-that-ladylike gulps.

"Hell on earth," Toby grumbled, playing with his dagger.

"Rum?"

Peg proffered the bottle like the finest brandy that the two of them had ever smuggled.

"No, thank you."

"Suit yerself."

"I will, dammit! There's nothing out here but sand, pirates, and **_rum_**!"

"Toby, ye're a pirate an' a smuggler."

"Of the Channel, mind you."

"So we're a ways from 'ome."

"An _ocean_ away. And not a single tavern serves gin!"

"They serve rum."

"Peg!"

"Right, Cap'n."

Toby took a calming breath, keeping his distance from the dark bottle.

"Jack better have a damn good reason calling you, me, and the _Lady Luck_ out here."

"Probably to smuggle rum, Toby."

Her captain twitched minutely, burying the dagger up to the hilt in the table.

"For the last time, Peg! I hate bloody **_rum_**!"

There was a small smile on Peg's face as she watched the irascible Toby Ixbridge charge with suicidal abandon into the raging bar fight, a smile which only widened as she drained to the dregs her bottle of rum.

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Theo abruptly snatched the white bandeau from Nathan's hands.

"You've been toying with that all day!"

"Ever since Laura told us about the Commodore and Miss St. Croix, if you're going to be precise," Nathan smiled sadly.

"She's lost."

"Who? Laura, or Miss St. Croix? Or both?"

Theo shut his book.

"Miss St. Croix is lost, thankfully."

"And Laura?"

"We'll find her, Nathan. Of that you may be sure."

"What if we don't find her, Theo? What if we never catch Sparrow? What if he never releases her? What if she dies? That will make two of us cursed in love – Do you think that Gypsy woman in Nassau was right?"

Nathan found himself smacked hard across his skull as Theo rose to stand before him.

"One: We are going to get Laura back. The Commodore's ire is up, Nathan, and you, as much as I or anyone on this ship, have seen the looks on his face whenever someone mentions her. He is going to find her, and hang me if he doesn't marry her. Two: Dammit, Nathan, the _Gypsy_ woman? If she knew the future then call me pirate! The Commodore is not cursed in love, I am not cursed in love, and you are not cursed in love!"

The look Nathan shot him was cold and bitter.

"You've never had your heart broken, Theo."

"I have not."

"Then I reserve the right to call myself cursed."

Nathan abruptly rose, shoving Theo out of his way and making his way across the wardroom. A moment later he had the decanter in hand and was pouring himself an inordinately large snifter of brandy.

"You have watch next!"

"The Commodore can go soak his head in a chamber pot for all I care."

He tossed the snifter back without a thought, then poured himself another.

"For goodness sake, Nathan, let her go!"

"You don't love a woman like Gale and forget her."

"She's dead."

"We don't know that."

"She caught another fever right after the smallpox. Not one in a thousand men could survive that!"

"She was always extraordinary."

Theo took the decanter from Nathan, replacing it in his hands with Gale's white bandeau.

"Listen to me. She's dead, and if by some miracle she survived, could you really face her? After she broke your heart? You have to move on."

"With Madeline?"

"I don't care who, you need to get on with your life."

Nathan stood up, moving to the stern windows.

"I concede the logic in your argument, but I find myself incapable of forgetting her long enough to love someone else."

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Laura Bell was, at that moment, terrified.

To begin with, she was in an airless, pitch-black, and dank area of the _Black Pearl_ Mr. Gibbs had referred to as the bilges. She was seated on what she hoped was a coil of rope, appendages held high out of the rancid, sloshing waters and away from any denizens of a rodent nature should have chosen to haunt this place. And she had her hands clenched on her ears, because the noise of conflicting cannons was deafening.

A scant hour before, she had been peacefully minding the galley, feeding some of the ship's cats. Then Mr. Gibbs had stormed in, doused the stove, and put her in the care of some rather impatient sailors who had simply thrown her in the bilges.

Now she feared for her life, the thunder of a battle above shaking the timbers throughout the _Pearl_. Laura could have screamed and it would have gone unnoticed, for all the noise – all the cannon and small arms, the shouts and cries.

For the first time since … since … since Heaven knew when, she was held in the clutches of a bottomless and engulfing fear.

She told herself again and again that a woman of her age should not experience these driving frights, ones that shook her to her core. She told herself she was safe. She told herself she had weathered worse.

But she could not convince herself of anything more than the overwhelming desire to have James comfort her.

Was that a rat she heard? Or worse?

Would the _Pearl _sink?

Was this the end?

_Though I walk in the valley of the shadows, I shall fear no evil … _

_I shall fear nothing … _

She did have too much to fear. Eventually Laura passed into that state of experiencing all but registering nothing, brought on by her terror.

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James woke in the middle of the night, jolting upright so quickly he nearly threw himself from his cot.

Struck, he felt his breathing return to normal and his heart ease to a calm, but still fought under a frightening swath of claustrophobia.

Rising from his cot, he pulled a dressing gown on and made his way to the stern balcony, rubbing the nightmare from his eyes.

A month at sea, almost, and still no sign of the _Black Pearl_. No word in Tortuga. No ships missing in Sparrow's stomping grounds.

No sign of Laura.

Save that nightmare.

In it he had been standing up to his knees in filthy bilge, rats and other vermin brushing his calves, submerged in complete darkness. Above he heard the thunder of a raging battle, mere inches overhead. Through the storm of noise and wretched surroundings, he heard a soft whimpering, and knew immediately it was Laura.

He could think of nothing but finding her, of comforting her, telling her it was all right, he wasn't going to let anything happen to her. But try as he might, her sobbing only grew fainter, leaving an echoing silence when it stopped.

That's when he woke up.

What could he do that he hadn't already done? How much harder could he search?

_By God, if Sparrow let anything happen to her … _

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Something pricked Laura's neck, sending her into a series of bone-rattling shudders as she strove to shake some unseen irritant off her.

As soon as she had stopped, she spotted a light.

"Miss Laura?"

It was the ever-present Mr. Gibbs, barely audible over the ringing silence.

"I am here."

"Good. It's clear. Figured ye didn't want ta spend any more time in the bilges."

With unsure feet, she swayed to a stand and sloshed through the water, trying to get to that light.

"What is the news?"

"We took a small schooner outta Newport, the Colonies."

Gibbs didn't quite hear what was said next, but could have sworn Laura muttered something to the extent of, "Bloody pirates."

"Is it all right by the Captain that I take some air?"

"No reason why not," he shrugged.

She tripped up a steep ladder, nearly falling on the older sailor when she reached the top. Not waiting for Gibbs, Laura took off on the closest to a sprint she could manage, bumping clumsily into odd corners she still forgot were there, almost a month after she boarded the _Pearl_. Bursting through the hatchway, into the air, she came upon a sight.

Lined up along the gunwales midships were the people of the captured schooner, the ship herself sinking in the _Pearl_'s wake. The skipper stood at the head of the line, head hung, and so on down the prisoners, ending with sole passenger.

She was a feeble, achingly frail girl, the very embodiment of the word sickly, aged beyond her years, whose countenance was truly frightening.

Framed by dull red hair, flat and lifeless, her face mirrored the rest of her body – worn, peaky, and sickly. Bright scars from the pox marred her deathly pale skin, which stretched hideously over the angular bones of her face. A sharp nose protruded over chapped lips; her cheekbones over grotesque hollows, but the true horror of her face was her blind. A thick black band covered her eyes, tied neatly behind her head.

She was sightless.

"'Ey! Laura!"

"What, Captain Sparrow?"

Laura turned to find the Captain barely a step behind her.

"Ye mind the missy bunkin' with ye? Course not."

That was how she found herself half-carrying the blind girl to the galley, the poor thing (though indeed, she looked like Death incarnate) shaking, either with chill, illness, or fright. Setting the girl up on a crate near the stove, Laura began to bustle about, preparing to cook the breakfast.

"I never caught your name, Miss," Laura started, after a long silence.

"Abigail Wetherhill, exile from Newport," she whispered.

"Why did you leave?"

"I had to."

"Do you have any family in the Caribbean?"

"None. I was hoping to find -"

At that moment, Captain Sparrow hollered down the galley stove pipe.

"Laura! Laura Bell! When the 'ell are ye going to finish boilin' that mush!"

Quick as lightning, Miss Wetherhill latched on to Laura's wrists and – if she had her sight – stared straight into her eyes.

"Laura Bell? Laura Bell? Thank Heaven I found you!"


	13. Running Away

**(Author's Notes – I am so, so sorry I haven't updated in such a long time! I hope you guys don't hate me, or haven't all gone away! Anyway, thank you, thank you, thank you to my lovely reviewers!**

**This chapter skips around a bit in the middle and end – sorry, experimenting with style a little. I won't do it again. I thought it sort of fit the chapter. **

**About Gale – she does have a story, I just don't know if this is the place for it. I might include it if I find a place and time for it; otherwise I might do a companion piece. **

**I didn't know what to do with the ending – it doesn't belong in the next chapter, and doesn't really belong here, but takes place between and is somewhat of a necessary revelation. Wow. Long note. On to the story!)**

In her wildest dreams, Laura had never actually expected to meet the woman Nathan and Theo cryptically referred to as Gale.

Furthermore, in the concocted situations in which she did, Laura expected someone far removed from this starved urchin.

"How is he?"

Laura looked up from her 12th study of Captain Sparrow, glancing at Miss Wetherhill perched demurely on a barrel installed on the quarterdeck for precisely that purpose.

"Nathan?"

She nodded minutely, stifling something that sounded, at least to Laura, like a sob.

"He's … well, Nathan," Laura smiled, "I suppose after he came back from the New England station, he was rather … bitter. He's gotten a little better, but still prone to bouts of melancholy."

"And is he … beholden?"

"He courts a Miss Delancey, though rather half-heartedly if truth be told."

Miss Wetherhill's thoughts whirred through a rapid spiral of hope and despair – in terror of seeing … well … being in his presence again, and then wanting, desperately, to have the chance to make things right.

"Miss Bell -"

"Laura," she corrected.

"Laura, then," Miss Wetherhill stuttered as she bit her lip nervously, "I must ask. What do you think of me? I'd quite understand if you despised me."

"I reserve my judgment, Miss Wetherhill."

Laura frowned and darkened a line over Captain Sparrow's brow, then gave her full attention to the frail girl and her story.

"I think you should know, Laura, that two … almost three years ago, I was an entirely different girl. If you can believe it, I was the beauty of Newport – there was not one face in a thousand like mine. I used to cherish the fact that I could stop a man in his tracks with my smile, that I could elicit a proposal of marriage in a half hour of conversation. But as I grew older, I realized how … how objectified I had become – men sought me for my beauty alone. I was a prize.

"So I began to withdraw from my position of resident coquette, despairing of ever finding an equal match. You must understand, Laura, that a marriage in which I was nothing but a trophy was abhorrent to me. My parents desired for me a good match, but thankfully understood that I could not marry any of the suitors who paid court to my face and not my heart.

"I had quite given up by the time I reached the age of nineteen, for I have never been a patient girl. So forlorn was I, that I nearly refused an invitation to the mayor's assembly which would have, in truth, been the breaking of me, for that is when I met Nathaniel Gillette …

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"Captain! We're coming up on the _Pearl_!"

Alexander St. John looked up from the wine bottle to his 1st mate.

"Run up the colors, beat to quarters! We'll have the cross before nightfall!"

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"Peg?"

"What is i', Toby?"

"Do you remember that necklace old Captain Bloor had?"

"Cap'n Bloor? 'E was 'anged by the Scourge long ago."

"But do you remember the necklace?"

"Aye, the Cross o' St. John, 'e called it."

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"Ship on the horizon, sir!"

"Colors, Gillette?"

"She's flying the Jolly Roger, Commodore. And she's too big to be the _Pearl_."

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"Jack!"

"What is it, Mr. Gibbs?"

"Sail in the horizon, bearin' down on us."

"Foe?"

"Dunno. She's flyin' the Jolly Roger."

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"He claimed it was something special, as I recall."

"From the neck o' a little girl, 'e said 'e took it. Something about a curse and a blessin' – thought 'e was drunk when 'e said it."

"Immortality?"

"He was drunk, Cap'n."

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_God – for once in this miserable life – don't take the woman I love again! You took Emily, you took Elizabeth, and now Laura – This time I cannot bend and not break. I cannot. If I lose her … I don't know what I'll do … _

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"Make sail, Mr. Gibbs. Put as much distance 'tween us an' her as ye please!"

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_No! – stop running! – that ship could be the Dauntless – I need to get out of here! God, James, please, I need you. I need you. Get me out of here, oh, God, James, rescue me before it's too late … _

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"I thought he was dead … I agreed to a marriage that never occurred. Then the illness took me, leaving me the way you see me now."

There was a stunned silence, Laura struck by the tale that had unfolded, Abigail waiting for a judgment that never came.

"Where are we headed, Captain Sparrow?"

He swaggered over, glancing at the sketch before uttering a cryptic answer.

"Upriver, luv."

"Running?"

"Why fight?"

"Fight?"

"That, luv, is the _Black Horizon_, captained by Alexander St. John, a truly frightenin' man with a truly frightenin' crew. I'd be mad takin' 'er on only a day after a major battle. We run. And find out why 'e's been chasin' us this last month at least."

Captain Sparrow watched as Laura's hand moved toward her diamond cross, though she barely seemed to register the gesture.

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The _Pearl _raced onward through the night, cutting across eerie swaths of sea heading due west into the unknown. A silent watch was kept; the only noise heard for long stretches of time was the raw voice of Mr. Cotton's parrot. When morning came, the sunlight barely burned through the thick fog, yet still Captain Sparrow pressed on, sure of his heading.

Like she did every morning, Laura stumbled out on deck, leaving Abigail slumbering peacefully in the tiny cabin they had been forced to share. Usually the sea breeze proved a stimulant, a thrill of raw reality that woke her up very rapidly indeed, but today, nothing could lift the haze in which her mind swam. Barely conscious of what she did, Laura stumbled to the rail, and heaved everything she had eaten in the last twelve hours into the _Pearl_'s wake.

_Good God_, she realized, _I'm pregnant._

_I'm bearing James's child._


	14. Bargaining for Witchcraft

**(Author's Notes – A prompt update from Brokenspar! Wow! I'm terrible, I know. Anyhow, thank you, thank you, thank you to all of my lovely reviewers!**

**I really don't have too much to say, unfortunately, only that I have NO free time anymore … still, I really want to finish. So, without further ado, Brokenspar presents Chapter 14: In which Laura sells something dear in exchange for something even dearer)**

"Tia Dalma!"

Captain Sparrow swaggered in the door to the fogbound island shack as if he owned it, and perhaps he did, for all Laura knew of the place.

Lit by the light of hundreds of candles, the hut was alive with an eerie, flickering glow that only half-revealed the terrible contents of the shack. Herbs and plants hung from the ceiling, along with bottles filled with oozing liquids – some of which she was quite certain was human blood – sand and, disgustingly enough, eyeballs.

Laura though Abigail was indeed lucky for that blindfold.

"Jack … Sparrow."

From the shadows stepped a dark woman, hair braided in dreadlocks with trinkets not unlike those of Captain Sparrow. As she came into the light Laura saw she dressed in the rags of what was once a fine dress, though Laura, clad as she was within the shreds of her blue morning gown and whatever else she could find, was in not position to criticize her on that score. But the woman's mouth was a deep, sickly blue hue; her teeth stained with the same dye, and her very manner so omniscient and obscure that Laura found herself quite afraid of the mistress of this island shack.

"Wha' 'ave ye brought me today, Jack?"

To Laura's horror, she found herself and Abigail being sized up by the woman she assumed to be Tia Dalma.

"Not them. I lose 'er," Captain Sparrow gestured here to Laura, "An' when the Scourge catches me there innit anythin' in 'Eaven or Earth that'll save me from bein' 'ung, drawn an' quartered. An' if I lose 'er," he pointed to Abigail, "There innit anythin' in 'Eaven or Earth that'll save me from the other girl's wrath-"

"An' it is de wrat' o' de Scourge ye fear in bot' cases," Tia Dalma finished.

"Exactly."

Captain Sparrow pulled from his pocket a small, weather-beaten, book, bound in blotchy human skin.

"Supposedly belonged to some great dead native shaman. A book o' spells, in exchange for what I want to know."

"De price is fair."

Tia Dalma swept the volume into a pocket of her skirt.

"Dat cross de Scourge's girl wears is de Cross o' St. John, de symbol o' de curse on de family o' St. John. De Captin o' de _Black 'Orizon_ seeks de necklace to lif' de curse, de curse o' immortality. 'E will no' be stoppin' chasin' ye until he gets dat girl an' de necklace."

Laura watched Captain Sparrow pale as Tia Dalma pronounced his sentence, and herself felt the blood drain from her face.

Swiftly Tia Dalma turned to face her.

"An' ye, chil', what is it dat you want? A potion for de babe? Or sometin else?"

The inhabitants of the hut all turned to stare at Laura, now revealed to be with the child of their deadliest enemy. She felt pinned under their gazes like a butterfly in her father's collection, an oddity and out of place.

"I want to see James again," she whispered, only the hint of defiance buried under the weight of wistfulness and fear.

"De girl knows wha' she wants. But what will ye pay, Laura Bell? De necklace o' redemption? De bracelet o' your dead fat'er? Or de ring o' your beloved?"

Laura watched in horror as Tia Dalma slid James's signet ring from her finger, examining the thick gold band and sinuous signature.

"Dat is me price, Laura."

She nodded, slowly, her reluctant assent.

Tia Dalma took her roughly by the arm, and led her to the center of the hut, being the only clear space. Humming and singing, she pulled several vials from the ceiling rafters, giving one to Laura.

"Don' drink dat jes' yet."

Laura looked at the oozing black liquid and wondered if she would ever.

On the floor, Tia Dalma drew a pentacle around Laura with white chalk and then traced it over again with the substance of another bottle, humming and chanting. Throwing down a vial which spread a red powder all over Laura and the pentacle, she shouted.

"Drink de vial, girl!"

Laura, giving the odd room and its denizens a final look, squeezed her eyes shut, and brought the bottle to her lips.

Barely had the thick, slimy substance passed to the back of her throat than she collapsed, limply unconscious, to the floor.

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Laura blinked – once, twice – and found herself standing in the great-cabin of the _Dauntless_, peering over the blue-clad shoulder of James, himself slumped over the desk.

"James!"

"Laura?"

In an instant he had risen to his feet and tried to embrace her, only to have her pass straight through him, like a ghost.

Shocked and frightened, he stared at Laura, shadowy and insubstantial in the moonlight.

"I'm in trouble, James," she whispered, "I sold your ring to see you again. I thought I'd have something to say, but all I can tell is I'm in trouble."

"What happened? God, Laura, you're not dead! Tell me you're not dead!"

"I am not. Though I may well be very soon."

"How is this possible?"

"I don't know. It's witchcraft, but I don't care. You've got to save me, James, if you don't intervene they'll get me and I don't know what they'll do to me."

"Sparrow?"

"No, not Captain Sparrow. The Captain of the _Black Horizon_, Alexander St. John – he wants Charity's cross, and he wants me because I wear it! I don't know what they'll do to me if they catch me – they'll kill me and they'll kill … oh, God, James. I'm with child. I'm with your child. I'm almost two months gone. You do remember, don't you? I'm sorry, I'm so sorry to do this to you but James, I love you and I don't know if I'll ever see you again. I don't know. Oh, God, James, I'm so frightened."

Wiping a solitary tear from her eye with the raggy hem of a filthy dress, Laura tried to pull herself together, focusing on his eyes.

"What's Captain Sparrow's bearing?"

"We headed west for a long time to find this island, but when he is done here I think he's going to double back east, to Heavens knows where. Before we came here he said something about meeting a friend in Tortuga … but I can't say."

"Laura," he stepped toward her, only inches from her shadowy figure, "I give you my word I'm going to find you. I'm not going to let anything happen to you. I swear to you, on my honor, I'm going to save you and when we get back to Port Royal we'll be married, like I promised. You and the child will be safe."

"What about Miss St.Croix?"

Laura looked on the verge of tears, and yet James had to struggle to suppress a grin.

"I threw her overboard, Laura."

She looked up at him with the most beatific smile he had ever seen, thus far in his life.

"She's gone, Laura."

"You make me the happiest of women even in the midst of my despair," she whispered finally, "I believe you and in you, James. I love you."

Even as Laura spoke, she seemed to be fading into the shadows, and she knew it.

"I can't stay long."

She leaned closer, spectral breath brushing his lapels.

"Don't go."

He leaned down, caught in the grey of her eyes.

"I can't. This is all out of my control now."

She tilted her head to regard him better.

"Neither is it in mine."

His face was bare centimeters from her own, and then their lips brushed as she faded altogether.


End file.
